


Roman Holiday

by Percyjacksonfan3



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley IS genderfluid and nobody can take that from me, Genderfluid Crowley, Other, Roman Holiday AU, These two have taken over my life, the Them make an appearance in typical Them style, this story took over my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percyjacksonfan3/pseuds/Percyjacksonfan3
Summary: Aziraphale is a journalist in Rome desperate to make enough money so that he can get back home to England. Crowley is a prince with a bis secret. When their paths cross in Rome is this Aziraphale's chance to impress his boss and accomplish his goal or something far more life-changing and important?Otherwise known as the Roman Holiday AU that nobody asked for but I wrote anyway.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	Roman Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> And there we are! My submission for the Good Omens Big Bang 2019! I'm so happy to have been a part of this, thank you to everybody involved for your hard work and to everyone of you that chooses to read this story.
> 
> Finally I must give a huge shout out to my amazing beta @trashmel on Tumblr and to the absolutely phenomenal @wyvernquill on Tumblr who is the artist behind the beautiful artwork you will see throughout the fic. You two have been so lovely to work with and I appreciate everything you've done to help me with this story!

It happens in Rome.

Not surprising really, as these things tended to occur in the most romantic of cities. Whether or not they are deemed romantic before famous love stories occur there or after is a matter of causation and correlation for everyone to decide amongst themselves.

Paris was popular, of course, or New York, though London, Casablanca and Verona had their fair share of iconic love stories and romantic notions hidden away in the forgotten corners and side streets too. Whether the tales were famous and well-known, or a memory hidden away deep in someone’s heart to be taken out and treasured as the years went by, it made no difference. A love story they all were and this was no different.

And it took place in Rome.

As a city full of history and fanciful notions it was a prime spot. To set the stage one must imagine the old cobbled streets in the center of the town and the oldest architecture for miles around. It was all weathered stone and skinny trees dotting the streets as cars and mopeds drove by honking and beeping at one another. There were stalls on sidewalks for selling fresh produce and baked goods sending the most delicious smells wafting through the air from bakery windows. Merchants sold their wares and called out to one another, a few shouting out to fleeing thieves here and there. Small businesses and stores looked out onto the main street that was teeming with people every day of the year.

The time was summer and gelato was selling so quickly anyone would think there was a shortage. More than one young child had the sticky remains of their treat smeared around their mouths as they walked with their parents.

It was a nice day.

For this to be a love story there must be romantic characters. At least two to be ideal. How fortunate then that we come across a perfect pair at the perfect time, both in desperate need of a good romance.

One is a prince. The most romantic figure of all some could say. Though perhaps the one in question is unusual compared to most.

This prince was finishing his tour of the allied western nations in place of his mother and father who were traveling Asia and South America respectively. Prince Crawley was in his mid twenties and the sole heir to his father’s very powerful and very public throne.

He had travelled from Australia and New Zealand to North America to England before coming to France and the rest of Continental Europe. Now he had made it to the Mediterranean and was stopping in Rome before his final two days in Athens. Then he would go back home.

The peace tour had already taken six months and Crawley was sick to death of the bowing and pleasantries to lords and ladies who reminded him unpleasantly of his own parents. There was an air of falseness around them all and a holier-than-thou attitude Crawley had always despised ever since he was old enough to see through its fake veneer.

These were the people who took tax dollars from their own citizens and ignored the crippling consequences. They would sign new bills into law and watch as slowly, with every new piece of legislation they stripped their people of their power. The ones who lowered the minimum wage while increasing taxes and hoarding the money for themselves before using it to throw lavish parties where half of the food was thrown away the next morning and half-opened bottles of champagne poured down the sink.

Crawley liked decadence and having the best of the best just as much as anybody but when it was contrasted so sharply with the suffering of those they were meant to protect… well, one couldn’t help but feel slightly sick.

If you wanted the truth there was not much tying Crawley to the monarchy apart from duty. Born and bred for becoming king there was never much of a choice for him. He had never known anything else.

He had never even had a day off. One didn’t get days off when they were in his position.

Throughout the tour where he met with people such as American Ambassadors and their wives and spoiled children he had Duke Hastur as his companion. Companion here only being his official title as he really acted as a jailor of sorts. Hastur would ensure he was put to bed with milk and crackers at a respectable time and woken early to be readied for another day. He never allowed any variation in the schedule and always seemed to take a perverse pleasure from punishing Crawley for disappointing in any way. 

If he was being completely honest- which he never, ever was, for a prince had few people he could truly trust without threat of the media getting ahold of anything damning- Crawley detested Hastur if only because he represented everything the prince was so desperate to escape from.

At the moment he had just suffered through a ball of the highest officials and dignitaries in Rome and experienced what Hastur liked to call one of his episodes. In truth all he had done was kick up a fuss and complain about the duties he felt strangled with. All of the names and titles he had to keep straight at all times of the day were whirling around in his mind and making him feel as if he was going crazy.

As usual Hastur hadn’t had the patience to deal with Crawley’s temper and so, instead of sitting with him through it or perhaps even offering a kind word, he had called in Ligur who had given Crawley a dose of sleep medication. Crawley hadn’t even seen the needle come out because he was too busy fighting their restraining grips on his shoulders but he had felt it prick his skin before he’d slipped unconscious.

In his defense that night had been particularly long and trying. Even the Pope had been there and Crawley had tried not to cringe as the old man had taken his hand. He’d always had a complicated relationship with religion which was particularly unfortunate due to what his future job would be.

And so that is where we will leave him for now. Passed out and left alone in the bedroom he’d generously been given for his stay in Rome.

The other half of this love story is, as one might expect, none other than Aziraphale. A Londoner who had come to Rome for a fresh start Aziraphale was an aspiring author. However until he wrote his big bestseller- something he had been struggling to do for many years now- he needed some sort of job to tide him over and he had been lucky enough to nab a position as a journalist at the most popular American newspaper in Rome _The Celestial Observer_.

Aziraphale was two months behind on rent, lived over a bookshop and was the personification of old-fashioned. He loved modest clothing in calm shades and colours and trailed behind the times when it came to pop culture by about 40 years. His computer was used for research and writing and his flip phone would really feel more comfortable back in the early 2000’s when the make and style had been all the rage.

These days kids would say that its brethren belonged in museums.

One of our heroes held the fate of a country in his hands. The other cared for nothing except making ends meet and getting back home to London. Perhaps the odd bit of sushi here or there or a cup of cocoa but when it came to the big things Aziraphale had learned to keep his head down and his mouth closed. Where he was a simple fellow it would turn out that Prince Crawley was anything but.

Yet there they both were in Rome on that fateful night.

* * *

Aziraphale sighed and set the cards down. “Two pair.”

Madame Tracy clucked her tongue in disappointment opposite him before throwing her cards on the small circular table in disgust. “I fold.”

Shadwell was looking at them all shiftily out of the corner of his eye before he sighed as well and put his hand down. “Nothin’. It’s up to you lad.”

“Hmm.” Newt was frowning down at his cards. “I still don’t think I’ve quite got the hang of this.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Anathema leaned over to look beside him, taking in his cards. She glanced up at Aziraphale, who smiled calmly, and narrowed her eyes before sitting back up straight. “Newt folds.”

“And you, my dear girl?”

She smiles brightly and lays the cards down. “It’s a flush.”

Aziraphale looked at the cards and huffed. His pocket felt considerably lighter than it had a moment ago. “Oh bugger. I was sure I had that one.”

“Next time.” Newt offered and Aziraphale shot him a small smile.

“One can only hope so. And I think I’ll take this as a sign that it’s time for me to go. Got that interview with the prince tomorrow you know.” He waves away their dramatic groans of sympathy. “I wouldn’t want to be late or Gabriel will murder me. So I’ll bid you all goodnight.”

“Already?” Madame Tracy asked. “It’s only 11 dear.”

“Which is late enough for me, I assure you.” He nodded at them all, even Shadwell who as always gave him a suspicious glare. “Until next time. Anathema, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

“Oh yes. I’d never pass up the chance to meet royalty.” She bats her eyes facetiously which makes Newt laugh. 

Aziraphale smiled a bit before waving goodbye and leaving his money sitting on the table with a pang. He then grabbed his coat to shrug it on and with one last parting opened the door to step down and out of Madame Tracy and Shadwell’s apartment onto the street.

It was cooler than expected tonight, considering it was summer. Aziraphale tugged his coat a bit tighter around himself and checked the empty street before crossing to walk beside the large fountain in the middle of the square.

Stars twinkled above him and he began a cheery whistle with only his footsteps and the falling water to break the silence. He was slowly filling with trepidation because of this interview with the Prince tomorrow. How was he meant to wrangle anything out of the man that the other reporters couldn’t? Gabriel was breathing down his neck for something unique that would put the _Observer_ back on the breakfast tables of the Roman people but Aziraphale wasn’t entirely confident he could deliver.

It was these thoughts that occupied him until he came upon a small stone bench.

The bench itself wasn’t very interesting but on it lay a man. Around Aziraphale’s age, perhaps a year or two younger, with shockingly red hair that was tied back. He was dressed entirely in black with the exception of a red shirt that looked like it was made of something soft and smooth like silk. Some sort of metal tassel scarf hung around his neck but with him laying down it all pooled onto the stone beneath the sleeper.

Drunk, Aziraphale decided, and took a few steps further intending to walk away without giving the person a second thought.

Only then a car passed by and loud riotous laughter barked out from its rolled down window. As a result Aziraphale heard a low, slow groan sound from the person he had just passed. It wasn't a sound of pain. Instead it was the irritated groan of somebody being woken when they would much rather still be in the throes of unconsciousness.

Aziraphale hesitated and turned back.

“So nice to meet you,” the passed-out person mumbled, turning their head away from the street towards the short wall of the fountain.

“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked and took a step back towards the figure, taking him in a bit more. He looked thoroughly out of it but if he was awake enough to say hello then perhaps Aziraphale was mistaken. “Well, nice to meet you too, I suppose. Are you quite sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Perfectly, thank you.” The arm covering the man’s eyes slid down to hang off the bench, fingertips scraping the cobbles beneath Aziraphale’s feet. He watched the person’s eyes blearily blink open as the red-head tilted his head to the side.

“I’m so very, very happy.”

Definitely drunk, Aziraphale decided, mouth twisting in disappointment. He was not against merrymaking, not at all in fact. Alcohol was one of the earth’s many delights. What he did not respect was drinking so much someone couldn’t even make it safely home and into their own bed.

He pursed his lips. “I expect you are.”

The eyes blinked again and Aziraphale finally noticed that they were a remarkable shade of gold. “You have my leave to sit.”

Confusion filled him but he did take the seat offered as the skinny man shakily sat up and scooted slightly over. However he overjudged and Aziraphale caught him quickly by the shoulders as he nearly toppled right into him.

“Hello.” The stranger grinned widely and blinked again, the streetlamps illuminating him into a most stunning image. Aziraphale wondered if he hadn’t had a bit too much to drink at Tracy and Shadwell’s himself since it felt difficult to pull his eyes away. “So lovely to meet you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Aziraphale grumbled, adjusting his hands when the man shifted so he still had a firm grip and didn’t let him fall. “What on earth are you doing out here at this time of night? It’s a bit cold for passing out on the street, isn’t it?”

“Is it cold?” Another blink. “Can’t say I noticed. Funny. Usually I’m sensitive to things like that.”

“It is.” Aziraphale confirmed. “And it’s growing quite damp as well.” He suspected that was from the fountain spray but nevertheless felt obligated to mention it. “You should go home.”

“Home? But I live miles away. Hundreds and hundreds of miles.”

Paying closer attention to his accent Aziraphale realized it was similar to his own. “Are you British?”

“ _You_ are.” The man poked him in the chest. “Stuffy old Brit!”

The young gentleman giggled and fell back against the stone before continuing. “Me? I’m staying at the Coliseum!”

“The Coliseum.” Aziraphale repeated skeptically. “Right.”

Just then he saw a cab driving past and waved to call it to a stop with a feeling of relief. Perfect timing. 

Extricating himself from the drunk he got up, smoothing out his white waistcoat and fixing his tartan collar before opening the door. From behind him came another tired groan and he stopped halfway into getting in, his hand on the handle.

“Oh, honestly.” He muttered and straightened back up, cursing the morals instilled upon him by his mother. “Uno momento,” he requested of the driver who sighed loudly and tapped his watch.

“Yes, alright.” He snapped in irritation and walked back over to the man. “Here, take this cab. I’ll get the next one.”

“Mmm?”

“The cab. It will take you home, or wherever it is you belong.”

He didn’t get an answer and with a huff Aziraphale looked both ways, making absolutely sure this man was alone before he slowly and painfully pulled him up to shuffle him over to the cab.

“There. Now do you have any money?”

“Oh I never carry money.” The man slurred as he finally met Aziraphale’s eyes. “Or ID. Who needs that?”

“That’s a terrible habit.” Aziraphale said primly before giving it all up for lost and climbing in beside him. “Now where is your address?”

“Coliseum!”

“It’s not the Coliseum,” the journalist said patiently. “Where do you live? What hotel are you staying at?”

But the other man was a lost cause and as Aziraphale watched his head fell against the window and he began to snore.

“Right. That’s just perfect.” Aziraphale met the unimpressed face of the driver in the mirror before sighing. “Very well. We’ll go to mine first until you sober up.”

Halfway there the red-head was jolted by a hole in the road and half-woke with a start. “Whales!”

“What was that?”

This led to a very confusing and nonsensical conversation about whales, dolphins and, somehow, the kraken. Aziraphale suspected that he had just lost an argument which was incredible because a) that was something he rarely did and b) he had no idea what the argument had even been about.

After what felt like far too long they arrived outside of his flat and he got out of the vehicle before handing the driver some money.

“Now look here,” he said to the taxi man, keeping his voice quiet. The other man still hadn’t woken up completely. “Take this money, alright? And just take him wherever he wants to go.”

“For me?” The Italian cabbie repeated and Aziraphale nodded.

“Yes, just make sure he gets home safe.”

“Thank you.” The driver nodded but when Aziraphale went to walk away he grabbed him back by the shirt.

“What?” He snapped after sputtering indignantly at being yanked back so sharply.

“No no no,” the driver was shaking his head and muttering, gesturing to his backseat at the body laying across it. “No take him. You take him.”

“No, see that’s what the money is for. I don’t know him, I only met him just before I met you.”

“You no know him?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmm.” The driver looked down the road before his face lit up when he saw a short and squat building in the distance. “I no want him. You no want him. Police? Maybe they want him.”

“Alright, alright.” 

Aziraphale shot him a glare and hurried to open the door again and grabbed the younger man. He maneuvered him out of the cab and noted how cold he felt. Probably from sitting outside for who knew how long. 

“Fine, happy?”

“Gracias.” The driver said with a crooked grin before speeding off.

“Ciao!” The young man in his arms called suddenly right in Aziraphale’s ear before lolling back against his chest.

“What on earth have you been drinking?” Aziraphale muttered before slowly and painstakingly leading him into the bookshop that belonged to his landlord. There was a trick to avoid ringing the bell at the door and while Aziraphale never had a problem managing it when alone it was a different story when he was hauling a half-limp body around.

“Do you know my favourite poem?”

“No.” Aziraphale sighed, running his eyes over the man again as they started to climb the stairs up to his apartment. Well dressed, well spoken, and educated enough to know poetry. Who was this person left alone on the streets drunk?

“Nature’s first green is gold,” the man began, his words falling slowly. “Her hardest hue to hold, Her early leaf’s a flower, but only so an hour.”

“Then leaf subsides to leaf.” Aziraphale continued softly, unable to help himself. Whatever he had been expecting it hadn’t been this.

“So Eden sank to grief.” The stranger sounds mournful as Aziraphale fumbles with his keys to unlock the door to his flat. “So dawn goes down to day.”

“Nothing gold can stay.” They said simultaneously and golden eyes flickered up just as he swung the door open. 

Aziraphale looked back, wondering if the other man’s surprise came from him forgetting Aziraphale was still there. 

“So you do know it.”

“Yes, I do. Frost isn’t it?”

“It is!” 

He said it excitedly which made Aziraphale’s annoyance ease somewhat.He could appreciate a fellow who enjoyed literature. 

After a moment’s hesitation he led him over to the spare hard-backed sofa. The man was smiling incredibly wide before looking down and pouting as they stopped beside where he would be sleeping that night. “Will you undress me please?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “This isn’t that kind of night.”

“Please.” The man requested, holding out his arms to the side and Aziraphale frowned.

“Oh, alright. How helpless can you be?” 

The last sentence was said in a mutter to himself and he hesitantly came closer to stop a foot or so away. Slowly he took stock of the clothes on the other man and he reached out, fingers brushing the hollow of his neck and then the small bit of skin showing on his chest to grip the metal chain thing and bring it up over his head.

The younger man shivered at the contact and Aziraphale tamped down a ridiculous urge to blush. His hand flexed.

“Er, here you are.” He dropped the chain in the man’s palm while wondering if it was a new style. Quickly turning away he opened his wardrobe and grabbed the first thing from his sleep-wear pile to give to him. “You can handle the rest, can’t you? I’m off to find a cuppa.”

He hurried away without waiting for an answer after making sure his money was securely in his pocket. There wasn’t much to steal in his flat, at least not that he could think of, and apart from what he carried on his person nothing he wouldn’t miss too much. Besides it didn't look like his visitor was going anywhere.

When he eventually returned it was to find his bed taken by the drunk wearing one of his old nightgowns- not the pajamas he had given him earlier. The red hair is shockingly distracting against the white of the pillows and sheets and Aziraphale narrowed his eyes.

“This won’t do at all.”

He loudly slammed the door but got no response. Following that he dragged the side table away and then pulled over his small couch to sit parallel to the bed.

The strange man slept on. There might have been a brief moment where he sniffled and made the smallest of noises but if he had the next second he was back to sleeping soundly.

“Right then.” Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the sheet before yanking sharply upwards and causing the man to roll off of his mattress onto the uncomfortable waiting sofa.

He barely gets a wordless groan in return for his efforts and seconds later snores have filled the room once more.

Choosing to keep his clothes on Aziraphale tucked his money under his pillow and slipped into his own bed. The residual warmth from the stranger warmed him almost instantly and though he’d intended to stay awake and keep watch it takes him remarkably little time to shut his eyes and fall asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning it’s to the sight of the strange man staring at him with his wide reptilian-looking eyes.

“Goodness that’s quite close isn’t it?” Aziraphale blinks in an attempt to check he wasn’t hallucinating and watches the drunk jolt back in surprise. 

Because he’d been bending down to stare the poor bloke stumbled a bit before regaining his footing and smoothly straightening again. His mouth twisted in the only sign of embarrassment Aziraphale could detect.

“Who are you?” 

“A thank you wouldn’t go unappreciated you know,” Aziraphale replied long-suffering, slowly sitting up and moving to sit on the edge of his bed. Usually he didn’t need much sleep but last night he must have passed out heavily. “Seeing as I rescued you from the street.”

“Rescued me? Please. You’re hardly the image of a dashing knight.” 

The other man snorted and Azirahale saw that he was dressed in his clothes from last night again. Somehow his appearance contrasted sharply with the bareness of Aziraphale’s apartment though the dull yellow walls did make his eyes stand out pleasantly.

“Know a lot of knights, do you?” 

“Well actually…” He had a hair ribbon tying back the shoulder length red curls and it tilted as he cocked his head to the side. “Wait. You’re being sarcastic.”

Aziraphale had been right last night. His accent was similar to Aziraphale’s own which was surprising. This was Rome after all, not Britain.

“Obviously.” Aziraphale replied. “Unless you’re about to claim you’re some sort of royalty. Which reminds me actually, now that you’re coherent,” he gives him a chastising look which the other man doesn’t react to, “could I finally have the name of the person I’ve allowed into my home?”

The yellow eyes blinked. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Seeing as you didn’t mention it last night among your drunken rambling no, I do not know.” Aziraphale responded impatiently.

“Oh. Right of course, erm. I’m…” He rocked a bit on his feet and looked around shiftily before settling his focus back on Aziraphale. “You can call me Crowley, I suppose.”

“Crowley.” He tested it out, a bit impressed with its unusualness. Growing up with the name Aziraphale made one unusually sympathetic towards odd names. “Is that some sort of last name?”

“My first name is Anthony.” The other man said, having now moved to inspect Aziraphale’s overflowing bookshelf. Apparently his attention was not so easily held and he had no scruples about invading Aziraphale’s privacy further. “But I hate it. Crowley will do for now.”

“Alright then.” He took the moment to slip the money from under his pillow into his trouser pocket while he had escaped the other’s attention. “Look, you’re obviously feeling better now and I need to get to work because I- oh bugger!”

That interview with the prince! Blast, when Aziraphale grabbed his watch he saw he had long missed the boat on that one and it was well past ten in the morning- definitely after the nine-o’-clock appointment he’d had along with hundreds of other reporters for the press conference. 

“Oh Gabriel will kill me!” He frets, hurriedly getting up and throwing on a jacket. “Look, you’ll be alright won’t you? I need to get to work, feel free to use the loo before you go and please don’t rob me blind. And lay off the liquor!”

“Wait a sec-”

He doesn’t even wait to hear what the other man has to say before dashing out the door and onto the street to hurry to his work. His heart is pounding and he’s breathing a bit too heavily when he bursts through the door, clothes still wrinkled and slightly askew, and he sees Sandy look up from the computer in the front to glare and Aziraphale tries not to cower. He’d never liked the other man and he rather suspected the feeling was mutual. Sandy was under the impression that Aziraphale was a raging homosexual and though he wasn’t wrong he was a homophobe and so Aziraphale did his best to stay out of the other man’s way.

Sheepishly he makes his way up to Gabriel’s office. Michael rides in the elevator with him and she manages to glare at him the entire time without looking his way once which only makes him more nervous. When they get out on the highest floor she goes into her office beside Gabriel’s with one last unimpressed glance leaving him to nervously knock on the glass door.

For a small print company it was certainly an expensive workspace. Everything was either white or glass and though Aziraphale had been told more than once it was modern and sleek he found that it gave him a bit of a headache when he was forced to spend an entire day inside. He much preferred going out and doing interviews or research pieces which was why he volunteered for it as often as possible. Luckily he suspected the others were rather glad to be rid of him whenever they could be and so they allowed him his little field trips, even if it was just to go visit the local park again to write about the wildlife there rather than find any real news.

But it was because of his unpopularity that he knew his job was already in danger. His coworkers and employers weren’t like him and they all knew it. They were rough edges where Aziraphale was soft. Efficient and ruthless when Aziraphale preferred to take his time and enjoy what he was doing and had tried to never hurt a living thing in his life. If it weren’t for his devoted cult following of his fluff pieces, advice column and often heartfelt and at times emotional interviews he knew he would have been fired long ago. 

The possibility was never completely off the table though and it was because of that Aziraphale knew this time he was, pardon his language, fucked. 

He’d missed the interview with the prince. The most important and high-profile interview of his entire career and he’d gone and slept through his alarm because he’d done the decent thing and picked up a drunk from the street the night before. 

Hopefully Anathema had gotten some pictures at least, he thought morosely as he waited for Gabriel to let him in. Maybe he could just ask her what the prince had seemed like and make up an interview from there. 

Oh who was he kidding,  _ The Celestial Observer _ would be sued in a heartbeat if he did that. Though maybe not. Maybe the prince gave so many interviews that they all ran together and if Aziraphale fibbed and fudged one a bit the monarchy would never remember that he hadn’t actually spoken to a chubby white-haired reporter with a British accent in Rome.

“Come in Aziraphale.” Gabriel waved him in through the glass and Aziraphale schooled his expression into one of forced confidence. 

Gabriel was in his usual tailored grey suit and sitting in his huge black leather chair behind his wooden office desk covered in neatly stacked papers. Though the room gave the appearance of a professional workspace Gabriel was in fact sitting in his chair playing with a metallic blue slinky.

“Good morning Gabriel!” He began but his superior cut him off immediately.

“So what happened?”

“Sorry?” His mind raced, trying to come up with a good enough lie. What should he do? Pretend he’d done the interview and risk it or just come clean?

His heart sank. One of those would possibly get him fired and the other option definitely would. 

“This morning. I assume because you didn’t check in first you went straight to the palace.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and scoffed but continued moving the toy in his hands. “What did they tell you?”

“Well,” he smiled shakily. “The prince was very nice. Such a polite fellow.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up and slowly the slinky came to rest in his lap. “What?

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale nodded rapidly. “Didn’t give up too much, but then again royals never do, do they?”

_ Please God, if you exist let him believe me _ , Aziraphale prayed fervently. 

“Really now?” Gabriel’s attention was now solely fixed on him. “Prince Crawley?”

Right, Crawley was the fellow’s name. Aziraphale probably should have known that. 

“Mmhmm,” he pressed his lips together to stop himself from digging further into this hole. “Decent chap really.”

“That’s amazing.”

Relief made his shoulders sag in a second. “Oh, it’s nothing-”

“No, I mean amazing because the palace released a statement this morning at about 6 saying that the prince was too sick to give any press conferences or perform any duties today and that they would have to be postponed until tomorrow.” Gabriel’s voice had turned hard and to make his point he slapped a fresh newspaper from that morning down on his desk with a large black and white photo on its cover and the headline  _ PRINCE CRAWLEY FALLS SICK DURING WORLD PEACE TOUR _ .

Oh bugger.

He laughed nervously and kept his hands held behind his back to hide their shaking. “Oh, did I say I spoke to the prince? No, no, I spoke to- to the prince’s representative. The one who came and told us all that he was indisposed for the day. Nice guy really, saved me a lot of time-”

His words cut off abruptly as he finally looked down and his brain registered the face from the picture staring up at him. 

That face. 

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. 

He knew that face. In fact he had last seen it only an hour ago in his apartment.

“This is the prince?” He asked in a hush, snatching up the paper. When Gabriel only continued to glare he shook it in his boss’ direction. “Is this him?”

“Of course it is, who else would it be?” Gabriel snapped. “Now tell me where you’ve been all morning and why I shouldn’t fire you since I know you haven’t been at the Coliseum conducting an interview.”

“I can get this interview.” Aziraphale said, still staring down at the picture. Those eyes, those unique and startling eyes, stared back up at him with haughty detachment. “In fact, I can get an exclusive with him.”

“Aziraphale now is no time for your dramatic flair. You’ll get time at the press conference tomorrow like everyone else but no more.”

“No Gabriel I mean it.” He looks up, an idea blooming in his mind and hope coursing through him. This was it. His big ticket item, a bargaining chip, something he could use to get out of Rome and back home. “I can get an exclusive interview with Prince Crawley if you only give me the day off. And it won’t be your everyday interview either, it will be his thoughts on everything from his family life to foreign intervention to his day to day life.”

Gabriel looked at him warily. “How could you possibly manage that?”

“I promise I can,” is all Aziraphale is willing to say. “How much would that be worth?”

“An interview like that?” Gabriel’s eyes fall to the paper still clutched in Aziraphale’s hands and his face turns thoughtful. “With all his personal thoughts and private life revealed to the world? That would be worth hundreds. I don’t think he does exclusives.”

Enough to get him back to England. Right now Aziraphale was scraping by with a small bit of petty cash but a job worth  _ hundreds…  _ that could pay off his debt and buy him a plane ticket home.

“How much exactly?”

Gabriel’s scrutiny went from the newspaper to Aziraphale. “You can really pull this off?”

“You think I can’t?” Aziraphale didn’t need to ask. He knew Gabriel didn’t think it was possible for him to do what he was promising.

“I find it hard to believe you can.” His boss replied. “But how about you and I make a deal. €600 for the interview. €1000 if you get pictures too.” He bared his teeth. “And what the hell, I’ll bet you €500 between us that you can’t do it.”

€500 between them. That was more than Aziraphale could afford. 

But that offer… he looked down at the picture again. Ringlets tied back with a ribbon, those cheekbones, that skinny frame. 

And those eyes. He knew those eyes. 

This wasn’t a bet. It was a sure thing. He could do this, he knew he could, and when he did he would be able to get out of here and go back home.

“Deal,” he offered his hand and savoured the startled expression on Gabriel’s face as the other man slowly reached across to take it. 

They shook once and Aziraphale didn’t waste another second standing there to discuss details. “I’ll write it up and have it on your desk by tomorrow morning- before the press conference.”

“Well alright then.” Gabriel sounded more bemused than anything. “And Aziraphale.”

He stopped, already in the open door.

“It better be worth the money.”

“Oh it will be.” 

He walked out practically skipping. This was what he needed to do to get home. If all it took was airing a few dirty secrets of a crown prince then he would do it without hesitation. Though Aziraphale never liked doing  _ exposés  _ this was royalty they were talking about. A likely well pampered prince who, from what Aziraphale had seen, was used to being waited on hand and foot and had far too much privilege. One bad news article would hardly ruin his life. It may even help him somehow- there was no such thing as bad press, after all, wasn’t that the saying? 

Yes he thought before he shoved away the stirs of guilt and unease he was beginning to feel as his mind raced to develop some sort of plan. This was fine. Nobody would seriously get hurt. Monarchies had survived worse than anything he was bound to find out by spending one day with the man. 

This was fine. No risk and everybody could go on their merry way while Aziraphale finally managed to get back home after years of being stuck here in Rome.

It would all work out just fine.

* * *

When Aziraphale made it back to his flat he was relieved to find the prince still there. 

And goodness, wasn’t that a sentence he never thought he’d have reason to think. A prince. A world-known monarch was currently standing out on the balcony of his cheap Roman apartment letting in a slight breeze through the open door that ruffled the pages of his novel and threatened to blow them around the room. 

Things like this didn’t just happen, not to Aziraphale. He couldn’t create miracles no matter how hard he tried at times and though the faint stirrings of guilt still sat in his stomach he was determined not to squander this chance.

Think of home, he told himself, think of England and English tea and St. James Park and the ducks.

Taking a deep breath he moves to go and stand beside the prince leaning on his balcony railing.

“Hello again. I thought you’d have left by now.”

Prince Crawley turns to look at him and though he’s wearing the same clothes he had been last night his hair isn’t tied back at the moment. It’s hanging loose and slightly damp across his shoulders and Aziraphale looks up to meet his eyes and is surprised to see the smile on his face. 

“I took a shower.”

“I can see that.”

“I took a shower that lasted over half an hour.” The prince continued and Aziraphale frowned. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Not many people do that.” Aziraphale grumbled. “Especially when they’re the one paying the water bill.”

“Nobody came to knock on the door and drag me out.” The other man continued half-dreamily. “Or yelled at me for being late. I took as long as I wanted and it didn’t matter one bit.”

“Er, right.” Aziraphale scrambled for a way to make this something relevant to his article. “Don’t get much time to yourself do you?”

“Not at all.” The prince says mournfully and Aziraphale internally preens while making a note of it. “Every part of my day is mapped out to the very minute and always busy. Even when I get time off it’s only to reply to letters or learn something or other or-”

He seems to catch himself and Aziraphale smiles. “Yes?”

“Um, nevermind. It’s not important.”

“It must be. You seem to want to talk about it and I don’t mind listening.” He tilted his head. “What is it exactly that you do? It sounds very official.”

“Er, I’m in school.”

Aziraphale blinks. That had definitely not been the answer he’d expected. “School?”

“Yes!” Prince Crawley grins excitedly obviously happy with his lie. “Yes, busy schedules, always learning or writing, never enough time to shower- I’m in school.”

Hmm. Aziraphale needed to get this back on track. “It sounds quite strict.”

“Oh very. But that’s school for you.”

“Very true, I suppose.” Aziraphale laments the turn in conversation. 

“So where was it you rushed off to? Work you said?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, I was late but it turns out I have the day off.” Aziraphale says carefully. “Silly me, I’m always confusing things. I’m not very with it in the mornings to tell you the truth and that’s why I regret I have to ask you once more for your name as I can’t quite remember what you told me earlier.”

“Crowley.” Prince Crawley said and Aziraphale grinned widely. He’d thought that had been it but part of him had suspected that maybe he’d been mistaken for his own amusement. He then proceeded to repeat it in his head a few times to make sure he wouldn’t accidently let the wrong name slip out. “You can call me Crowley.”

“Lovely. Well, Crowley, it is absolutely wonderful to meet you. My name is Aziraphale and to make up for my appalling manners this morning perhaps I could take you out for some breakfast? Or lunch rather, seeing as time is getting on like it is.”

“Oh, no. I really must be getting back.”

“To the school?”

“...Yes, back to school.”

“You’ve already missed half of the day, surely the rest won’t make that much of a difference?” Aziraphale tries to cajole him and hopes he doesn’t seem as ridiculous as he feels. “You were saying how nice the downtime was, weren’t you? A little break?”

“A break?”

“Of course!”

Crowley hesitates but then his face falls and he shakes his head when he finally does answer. “No I’m sorry, I really have to go.”

Disappointment and a hint of panic is a bolt down Aziraphale’s spine but he covers it up quickly. “Ah well, alright then. Shall I help you back?”

“No thank you, I’ll be fine. I was only waiting to say thank you and goodbye and got distracted by your beautiful view.” He pauses again. “Very nice up here. Quiet. Peaceful.”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked, lost in his head, mourning the loss of his plane ticket home. “Oh yes, very nice.”

“Well.” Crowley meets his eyes again and smiles. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He watched as the prince began to leave and then saw him stop and turn on his heel to come back looking sheepish all the while. “I, ah, I just realized I don’t have any money or any idea where we are.”

“Oh, of course, you said last night you didn’t have any notes on you.” No money or ID, that made much more sense now that Aziraphale knew who he was. “Here you are.” Aziraphale rattled off his address and handed over enough money for a cab to wherever the prince could possibly need to go, trying to push away the pang the loss of money gave him. 

“Thank you again,” Crowley said kindly. “I’ll make sure you’re repaid every penny.”

“Oh no need,” he replied quickly though he wondered if there might be a little extra along with that; for helping out the prince and all. It wasn’t as if the monarchy couldn’t spare it, surely. “Have a nice rest of your day.”

“You too.” Crowley tipped his head and before he could think about it Aziraphale tipped his back. And then the prince had turned away again and left the room leaving Aziraphale to let out a huge sigh.

“Blast it,” he muttered. “So close, it was all right there- Aziraphale, you fool, you should have forced the situation so you could bring him back to his hotel. Or at least delayed a bit.”

He wondered how Crowley would be spending the rest of his day. Apologizing for missing this morning's obligations probably. Once he got back that was.

Speaking of, maybe Aziraphale shouldn’t have just let him go wandering off alone. People were bound to recognize him, weren’t they? What if he ran into trouble before finding a cab? What if he needed help?

Aziraphale saw the forgotten hair ribbon lying on his bedside table. It looked simple but probably cost more than his entire flat and everything in it. His resolve returned. 

He couldn’t squander this chance. It wasn’t every day things like this happened and he had to seize the opportunity while he could. Aziraphale had done more than his fair share of sitting on the sidelines but no more. Now was the time for action.

So before he could talk himself out of it he grabbed his wallet once more and locked the door of his flat before rushing out onto the bustling street to try and find a head of red hair.

It was only after he’d stepped out onto the sidewalk that he realized the market was on. Lucky for him, since it meant Crowley hadn’t gone far among the crowd of people and vendors trying to sell their wares.

Amusement quickly bloomed when he finally caught sight of the prince in the middle of haggling with a man trying to sell him some fruit. Eventually Crowley seemed to give in, handing over some money in return for an apple, though when the vendor turned to put the money out of sight Aziraphale noticed he stole a second one as well.

“Hmm.” He hummed to himself before waving off a woman with hats. 

A royal thief, that would be worth something to the media. Even if it was only an apple, and after he had probably overpaid the seller for the first one (did royals know the price of apples? Aziraphale doubted it somehow and though the likelihood Crowley had paid too much to be quite high indeed), it didn’t matter. Royals had more money than they knew what to reasonably do with and thinking that on top of taking taxpayers money they were also taking food that could go to someone more needy… 

It didn’t seem like much of a crime but Aziraphale was in the media business. He knew how to make the smallest thing ruin a career, and though he wasn’t in the habit of doing it himself, with a piece like this, to make it worth it to Gabriel, he knew he would have to bend his morals to get what he needed. 

Crowley stopped a bit at a woman selling clothes. Dresses, skirts, t-shirts and women and men’s shorts were all on display. Though Aziraphale didn’t see Crowley buy anything he certainly seemed interested in the prices.

“I said no! Now if you’ll excuse me,” Aziraphale extricates himself from a particularly pushy merchant before turning quickly back around when he sees Crowley glancing back curiously. “Actually do you know, I will take one, thank you.”

He wastes a few seconds debating price and then picks up his newly bought watermelon and turns back around to continue following that head of red hair. Thankfully Crowley didn’t seem to have spotted him and was instead moving past the street market to the sidewalk to look inside shops. 

One seemed to catch his particular interest and Aziraphale hung back watching curiously as Crowley leaned in towards the window, eyes fixed on something inside hungrily. The prince glanced side to side and as if checking nobody was watching before looking back at the window to sigh and move on. Aziraphale wasted the few minutes by flagging down a passing group of kids and handing his watermelon over to them and then hurried to follow Crowley again and resolutely ignoring the loud  _ splat! _ that came from behind him a few moments later. 

He stopped to check what it was that had caught the prince’s attention so thoroughly only to see it was nothing more than a woman’s shoe shop and that the display which had apparently been so interesting was one of high heels more appropriate for a young woman going out somewhere nice than a prince stuck performing royal duties all day. 

Interesting. Was there a woman in Crowley’s life that he needed to shop for? Aziraphale wondered. Maybe earlier he hadn’t been looking at men’s clothes at all but the women’s things and now he was taking notice of high heels. 

He should have paid more attention to Gabriel when he’d given Aziraphale the rundown of the prince while giving him the assignment in the first place. And last night he should have paid more attention to Anathema when she’d tried to discuss it before poker. 

But could he be blamed? He’d never thought he’d exchange more than a few sentences with the man, at most, and they would be nothing but the bland and boring questions and answers usually given in royal interviews. Nobody could have predicted this. 

Yet here they were and now Aziraphale was wondering who Crowley could possibly be shopping for. Sparkly silver heels that were, he would admit, fairly nice, was that a gift typically given to a lover? Was the prince seeing a woman and, if the answer was yes, was it public knowledge?

This time when Crowley slowed down to look at a store window it wasn’t a store at all but a barbers. Aziraphale frowned when after hesitating a few moments Crowley ducked inside.

“What possible business could he have in there?” He asked himself and wondered if maybe royal families had secret establishments littered throughout cities where they could escape to if they ever got lost. Check points if you will. 

“Oh hush, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed before the thought could even fully form and moved out of the way of a passing family. The mother shot him a questioning look that he resolutely ignored.

Well, now what was he to do? He waited five minutes but when it became clear Crowley wasn’t coming out anytime soon he tried to come up with a plan. Should he go in and pretend he needed a haircut as well? It was the closest one to his home so it wouldn’t be entirely implausible but Aziraphale had also never been inside that place in his life. He had his own favourite barber in another establishment. Last time he’d visited he’d recommended a very nice cologne.

The sun beat down brightly, heating him up beneath his layers of clothing, and he looked around. They were at the Piazza di Spagna and the spray from the fountain looked particularly refreshing. Perhaps he would just go and sit on the edge of it until Crowley emerged. 

It gave him time to think which was more than welcome. What was he planning on doing? Was there a way he could walk past Crowley and get his attention without making it obvious that’s what he was trying to do? 

Oh God. What if he failed? What if he couldn’t get this interview?

Despite the fact that the prince was here, within easy reach, Aziraphale wasn’t confident in his own ability to do this right. He was already a bit uneasy about this whole thing and his track record- Aziraphale was a screw up. There was a reason he was a joke at the office and spent most of his time alone. 

All those smooth talkers and beautiful people that had it easy and made their way through life without any problems- people like Crowley- Aziraphale wasn’t one of them. He was a bit overweight and insecure at times and the only thing he had that he knew he was good at was his writing. 

But now with this assignment… Aziraphale had his morals. He’d always stuck to them and tried to do the right thing. Did this really fall into that category?

Luckily he didn’t have the chance to sit and ponder anymore. More time must have passed than he thought because a head of short cut red hair caught his eye and made him look up. 

“Hello again.” Crowley was standing there, hair freshly cut close to his head, licking a cone of gelato. His eyes pinned Aziraphale in place as he looked at him curiously. “Are you following me?”

“What? No, of course not.” Aziraphale blinked up against the bright sky and felt a rush of relief as his panic melted away in the face of the prince. “I like your hair.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s free hand came up to touch the back of his head self-consciously and the smile curving his lips was strikingly beautiful. 

Aziraphale wondered if he got his teeth bleached. Nobody’s teeth were naturally that white, were they? Even royalty with their bloodlines and genetics and healthy living must have some physical flaws right? Aziraphale couldn’t see any yet but they had to be there.

“Thanks.”

He plopped down beside Aziraphale on the fountain edge. 

“I thought you had to get back to your school?” Aziraphale cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He should be asking anything else- why Crowley cut his hair, why he wasn’t going back to the peace tour he was delaying, whether anyone would be out looking for him- honestly, anything else that the average everyday reader would be interested in. 

“About that.” Crowley looked at him from the corner of his eyes in slight embarrassment. “I kind of… ran out of money.”

Immediately any warmth Aziraphale had been feeling vanished. He’d known Crowley spent the money from seeing it but the reminder that he’d basically given cash that he was so desperate to keep away for nothing was harsh. 

“Put it to good use I hope?” He inquired casually.

“Well there were people in the street selling things. They were so nice and I had the money so I bought a few pieces and then I passed the barbers and-” he stops abruptly and looks at Aziraphale with hesitation again. “I’ve never really been allowed to decide my own hairstyle. The school has rules and regulations about that kind of thing.”

“Really?” His interest was piqued again. “They control how you look down to your hair?”

He hadn’t thought that even the monarchy would be that excessive but then again what did he know? Aziraphale came from squalor not high society. Maybe hairstyles were like fashion trends, coming and going, and the professionals were the ones who gave the advice and made the decisions. 

“Yeah.” Crowley finished his gelato. “You know when I was young I saw a picture of a- a model in a magazine. And they had this haircut.” He gestured to it. “They looked so happy and just like themselves. Even back then I had to grow mine out because long-hair is  _ traditional  _ and  _ dignified  _ and everything else my family needs me to be. But I like modern and sleek and cool. Not,” he seemed to catch sight of what Aziraphale was wearing for the first time and finished meekly. “Um. Old school.”

“I prefer to think of it as well worn and loved.” Aziraphale said mildly, wishing he could take out his notebook and jot down what Crowley had said, making a mental note of the conversation. 

“That style suits you.” Crowley offered in a moment of kindness. “I don’t think I would pull it off.”

Aziraphale disagreed- he was coming to the conclusion that Crowley could pull of a paper bag- but didn’t say anything. 

“Anyway.” The prince shifted in discomfort. “I guess I’ll just walk back.”

This is it Aziraphale, he thought to himself. Your second chance. Take it. 

He pushed his misgivings away. “You know, why don’t you take the day off, like I suggested before? We could get that late lunch.” He smiled nicely. “I’ll even pay for it.”

“I don’t know…”

“It can be a holiday.” Aziraphale wondered if he was successively toeing the line between convincing and needling. “We’ll have a  _ Roman Holiday _ .”

Crowley smiled. “I’ve never seen that movie.”

“Really? I’m not the biggest film watcher but I enjoyed it. It’s a classic you know.”

“I’ll make a point of seeing it soon.” Crowley met his eyes while searching his face and Aziraphale tried to look innocent and honest. Whatever expression he wore it must have worked. “You really wouldn’t mind showing me around?”

“Not at all. It will be fun. We can even do some sightseeing.”

Crowley glanced at him again. “You’re not from Rome. Your accent is British. English?” He smiled to himself, small and soft. “We’re both foreigners here.”

“I’m from London.” Aziraphale confessed. “Soho.”

Anyone who knew Aziraphale might have remarked on how much of a cliché that was.

Crowley did not. His reaction was almost the exact opposite and Aziraphale watched bemused as his eyes widened and his face broke into a smile.

“Oh, I know London quite well!” He said happily. “It always felt home-like to me.”

He can’t help but smile back even as the familiar rush of longing goes through him. He ached for London these days and it was growing worse the longer he was in Rome. Italy was lovely, and he would always be glad he came, needing to get away from the grief and mourning for his parents, but Aziraphale couldn’t lie to himself. He was decidedly homesick. 

“Well the two of us would agree there.”

Crowley frowns. “But then… what are you doing living here?” His eyes take in the surroundings once more. “You do live here, don’t you? That was your apartment earlier?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale laughed. “I’ve been living in Rome for a while now.”

“Lucky for me.” They shared a look. “It was nice of you to bring me home last night.’

“Anyone would have.”

“No.” Crowley is serious all of a sudden. “No they wouldn’t have. It was stupid of me to risk being alone at night in a city I don’t know. I appreciate what you did.”

“Oh. Well.” Aziraphale blinks, caught off guard in the face of Crowley’s sudden seriousness. “It was nothing.”

“And I will pay you back your money.” Crowley says determinedly before his expression softens. “You’re like my guardian angel. Or something.”

“Ha, I can’t say I’ve been called that before.”

“Hmm.” Crowley isn’t looking at him. “Think I’ll call you that from now on. Angel. Loads easier to say than Aziraphale.”

He’s teasing but Aziraphale can’t help but frown. He’s spent too many years being mocked for his name, thank you very much. “Well, whatever you wish I suppose.”

Crowley’s eyes flit back to him and he must read the look on Aziraphale’s face correctly. “I’m just kidding. Though you do seem a bit like an angel you know, what with all the,” he waves a hand at him. “White.”

“If you are referring to my hair then I can assure you it is quite a common colour these days. I’ve seen plenty of young women with silvery grey hair going about.”

“Is that what you’re trying to be then?” Crowley stops suddenly and when Aziraphale turns to look over at him his eyes are wide. “A woman?”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking around anymore and Aziraphale blinks in surprise at the sudden turn in conversation. “Oh no, not at all. It was just an observation.”

Aziraphale would almost think that was disappointment on Crowley’s face but it’s gone so quickly he thinks it must have been his imagination.

“Now then.” He claps his hands together and rubs them in excitement, watching the taken aback way Crowley tracks the movements. He knows he’s perhaps being a bit much but he’s excited, ready to get what he needs so he can write his article.

Crowley’s mouth is ticking up at the corners though so he supposes he can’t be too off-putting.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Oh.” Crowley stands quickly. “I really should be getting back. I got a bit distracted but now that you’re here… well perhaps I can borrow some more money? For a cab?”

Now that just won’t do. Aziraphale thinks quickly. “Nonsense! You’ve already been gone half of the day, what’s the rest of it? Come on, it’s one day of your life, that won’t kill you will it?”

Crowley hesitates.

“Just today for whatever you want to do! My treat. We’ll go wherever you like, do whatever you like. What do you say?”

“I shouldn’t impose…”

“Nonsense.” Aziraphale repeats while beaming up at him. “It would be my pleasure. A mini holiday.”

“A holiday?”

“Precisely. Everybody should have at least one, don’t you think? It’s only one day.”

“Well alright then.” Crowley’s face splits into a huge grin. “I’ve never been on a real holiday before and there are a few things I’ve always wanted to try.”

“Perfect!” Inside Aziraphale is whooping in triumph. “Like what? We’ll do anything.”

“That’s a dangerous promise to be making.”

“Ah well, that’s me. No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?” Aziraphale nods towards the plaza and after Crowley stands they begin to walk down the steps together. “So what first?”

“Well I-” Crowley stops, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “I did think…” He trails off blinking and Aziraphale sees him squint.

“Ah, here you are, my dear.” He takes his sunglasses from his pocket and holds them out. Crowley looks down in surprise.

“But what about you?”

Aziraphale gives him the glasses. “I never use them anyway. You can keep that pair if you like.”

Crowley is staring down at the plastic in his hands, turning the glasses over and over with his fingers. The expression on his face is odd, far too touched considering that the gift is only cheap plastic. “I shouldn’t.” He murmurs. “Really. I have loads back at- at the school.”

“Don’t even think of it,” Aziraphale says, taking them back from Crowley to unfold them and slide them up over his nose and on. “There, you see? It’s a shame to hide your lovely eyes but needs must and all that.”

Crowley stares at him. His throat seems to be working before he says quite quietly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Aziraphale begins to lead them happily away. “So? Where are we off to first?”

“It’s hard to pick only one.” Crowley smiles. “Where would you suggest?”

Just following the tail end of the question Aziraphale’s stomach rumbles and Crowley’s grin turns soft. “What would you say to stopping by a roadside café?”

He smiles back, a tad embarrassed. “Is that what you would like? I’m fine, really.”

“No, no.” Crowley takes his arm easily and drags him across the plaza to the nearest street tables. “I insist.”

They sit and Crowley looks around happily as Aziraphale gives the waiter their order.

“Oh and something to drink! What do you say, angel, a nice wine?”

Aziraphale bit back a smile. “Yes, that sounds lovely. A glass of house red each, does that sound suitable?”

He didn’t have the money for all of this but that made no difference. Aziraphale had an idea and as he excused himself to the bathroom he pulled out his cell phone and phoned one of the only numbers he had saved into his contacts.

“Hello? Bit busy Aziraphale, this guy I’m with is the clumsiest man I’ve ever met and I’ve only just managed-”

“Anathema love, you’ll have to leave poor Newt for the moment. I’ve found something much more interesting for you to photograph.”

A pause came from down the line. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.” Aziraphale says, turning in the grey painted cubicle to peek out the door. Nobody else in the bathroom. “But bring your book. You know the one.”

“Aziraphale-”

He told her the name of the café quickly before hanging up. She would come, he knew. Anathema was one of the only photographers in journalism here he actually liked and he was pretty sure she felt the same about him as a journalist. Rome was a tough city and English speakers tended to congregate, especially when they were roughly in the same business.

Anathema was American but of the unusual sort. Her mother was a self-proclaimed ancestor of a witch and Anathema tended to get strange feelings and premonitions every once in a while. Her father had died when she was very young and the family had been lucky enough to invest in Apple back when it was a fledgling company, earning them all a large fortune.

She didn’t need the money, Aziraphale knew. Not like him. No, Anathema would do it for the story.

He hoped at least.

“Sorry about that.” He slid back into the seat across from Crowley with a smile and picked up the menu and took a sip of wine. “Mm, delicious. Now where were we?”

“I’m torn on what to get.” Crowley tilted his head. “Do you feel like oysters?”

Aziraphale looked at the prices. “I’ve never had an oyster.”

“Really? Oh well let me tempt you.” Crowley smiled wickedly. “Our chef makes the best oysters.”

“Your school sounds incredibly fancy.”

“It is. And very strict.” 

“That must be hard.”

“It can be. The… teachers are hard to get along with. And most of the time I’m by myself..”

“I would have thought you’d always be surrounded by people. In school.”

Crowley’s smile is sad. “Maybe but I still feel like I’m by myself.”

“You’re often lonely then.”

“Mmm.” Crowley agreed and took another huge gulp of wine. His fingers were thin and delicate on the glass and Aziraphale found himself distracted. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Me?” He scrambled while cursing his own foolishness. He should have prepared for that question. It was an obvious one for Crowley to ask. “Let’s see, I- Anathema! What a coincidence!”

Crowley startled a bit as Aziraphale practically leaped up to touch a surprised Anathema’s arm and pull her closer. He spoke again before she could. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“What are you talking about, Aziraphale, you-”

“Are so happy to see you! What a coincidence, would you like to sit with us?”

“I-” She looks at him in total confusion. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Hello.” Crowley is standing and looking incredibly uncomfortable. “I’m Crowley, it's nice to meet you.”

“Hey,” Anathema said distractedly, still watching Aziraphale with a question on her face as she stretched out a hand to shake Crowley’s. It was only when their hands touched that she looked over and saw the prince. “I’m Anath- oh my God!”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped and Aziraphale immediately went into panic-mode and slapped her shoulder. Hard. 

“Don’t worry I got it!”

Both Crowley and Anathema looked at him like he was crazy. She rubbed her long-sleeve clad shoulder and stared at him with daggers in her eyes.

“Ow.” Anathema said pointedly. 

“Just a bug. Anathema do you need to run some cold water on that bite?”

“But I- Aziraphale do you know who th-”

“Who thought of outdoor cafes where bugs have free reign on innocent customers? No I do not but I really think we should go and take a look at that bite.”

She looked between him and Crowley and then finally settled on him unhappily as she slowly agreed. “Okay.”

“Great.” He turned to Crowley in concern. “Will you be alright?”

“Sure. I didn’t know the bugs were that bad here.” Crowley frowned for a moment before his expression cleared. “Shall I order us some oysters?”

“Yes, go ahead and do that. We won’t be a moment.” Aziraphale agreed and then practically dragged Anathema away to the back. 

“Aziraphale what the hell! Do you know who that is?” Anathema hissed at him when they finally stopped huddled together inside the cafe.

“Yes I know who that is, my head isn’t buried that far in the sand! Did you bring your book?” 

Her face lit up. “Are you doing a story on him?”

“I’m trying to!” He quickly explained the situation and watched as her expression went from impressed and excited to stormy.

“Okay, you know I love to pull the rug out under rich people since they usually deserve it but Aziraphale this isn’t like you.” She sounded concerned. “You’re always the one talking to us about morals and doing the right thing and while this isn’t exactly nefarious it is the most ethically questionable thing I’ve known you to do.”

He brushed her off. “Please, I’m hardly exploiting him. And like you said he’s rich and no matter what I write about him or his family it will hardly bring down the monarchy and ruin their lives.”

“Well that’s true.”

She still looked concerned so he sighed. “Besides I didn’t tell you how much Gabriel is paying me.” He names the sum and her expression doesn’t change. “That’s enough to get me home Anathema. Back to England. And I’ll give you your full cut.”

“I would expect you to.” She says and touches his arm. “I’ll help you, of course I will. I know how badly you want to get home. But I’m doing it for the story, not the money.”

“Thank you.” He says in relief. “Now come on. And call him Crowley.”

“Crowley?” She scoffs. “Very original.”

“Be nice, my dear girl, I did put him on the spot.”

They fall quiet to slide back into their seats and Crowley looks at them innocently without a hint of suspicion. “Alright now?”

“Peachy.” Aziraphale answers before Anathema can. “Anathema was just coming to have a coffee and do some reading, isn’t that a coincidence? You don’t mind if she sits with us, do you?”

For someone who hated lying as much as he did Aziraphale found he was remarkably good at it when he needed to be. 

He shares a pointed look with her and she sighs before pulling her old book of prophecies from her bag. It was an old and wrecked thing but what most people didn’t know was that the top of the spine had a hidden camera. It was something Anathema used to take candid photos as she always said the most beautiful moments happened when people least expected them.

Aziraphale rather thought people were just more at ease when they didn’t know they were being watched but he’d always wisely kept that observation to himself. 

“Only if you don’t mind,” she seems to have decided to resolutely ignore Aziraphale and speaks to Crowley. 

“Not at all. More wine there, angel?”

Crowley turned from her quickly and gently rested a hand on Aziraphale’s arm, making him sit up a bit in surprise. He didn’t see Anathema appraise them with an interested look because he was too busy taking in Crowley’s expectant expression and soft touch. 

His glass wasn’t really that empty but he nodded anyway, too surprised to think about what he was doing. Crowley’s hand was still on his arm and while he topped up Aziraphale’s glass one handed he shot Anathema a significant look that went completely over Aziraphale’s head. 

Anathema smirked back at him after a few seconds before finally including Aziraphale in their silent communication. “Like I was saying inside Newt- that’s my boyfriend, Crowley- managed to not only burn breakfast and set the fire alarm off for the entire building but also ran outside in nothing but his briefs and socks. I had to chase after him with his bathrobe.”

Aziraphale was frowning before she even finished. “You weren’t saying anything about-”

“Your boyfriend?” Crowley’s hand finally left Aziraphale’s arm and his expression warmed fractionally. Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed the new tense set to his shoulders until it disappeared. 

“Oh yes, he’s quite clumsy the poor man.” He answered for Anathema who seemed happy enough to leave them to it as she ducked her head back down to her book. “The day I met him he nearly ran me over with his car.”

Tiny dinky little thing it was too. Perfect for Rome really, though Newt claimed to have brought it from England. Why he’d want to do that- Aziraphale was not an avid fan of cars but even he knew that Dick Turpin was perhaps not the most coveted of machines- he had no idea, but to each his own. 

“Really?” Crowley’s eyebrows rose. “Sounds dangerous.”

“Usually I would say it was a one-time thing but like I said. Newt’s a bit clumsy.”

Anathema snorted to herself beside them but apart from demurely taking a sip of her coffee neglected to comment on how big of an understatement that was and continued looking at her book.

“I have a car.” Crowley replies and this time Anathema’s laughter is masked as a cough. Aziraphale shoots her a glare but luckily Crowley didn’t seem to notice. “A 1926 black Bentley.”

“Really?” He tries to seem interested when the truth was he knew absolutely nothing about vehicles apart from the bare minimum. He didn’t even have his own license. “Is it- is it very fast?”

Crowley’s grin is sharp and devilish. “Extremely fast.”

Aziraphale’s stomach gives a funny twist that he absolutely cannot understand and he quickly looks down at his plate where a newly placed muffin sits to begin eating. Hunger yes, perhaps the feeling was hunger. 

“It would be wasted on me then,” he confesses. “Not only do I know nothing about cars but I prefer slow and steady to fast and dangerous. The turtle wins the race and all that. If I could walk everywhere I would.”

Crowley is shaking his head before Aziraphale finishes speaking. “You haven’t seen her. If you did you’d be as in love as I am.”

He blinks. Aziraphale supposed this could be used in his article if he played his cards right. “You like that kind of thing then. Old cars, racing, the whole,” he waved his hand, “industry?”

“I do. I even know how to fix the Bentley up,” he says proudly, like it’s a rare achievement and perhaps it is to him, Aziraphale realizes. He suspected that not many royals were proficient mechanics. 

“Do you spend a lot of time doing that?” 

He’s trying to come up with an angle for writing this. Maybe it wouldn’t be a slanderous and salacious piece at all but rather a heartwarming insight into what Prince Crawley was really like underneath the titles and official duties. After last night he’d expected the prince to be spoiled and rude but so far he was pleasantly surprised. 

Maybe there was a human in there after all.

“Mmm.” Crowley confirmed and leaned in a bit towards him just as their oysters were set in front of them. Aziraphale couldn’t help but reciprocate. “I can perform miracles on that car. With her and plants I’m great. Anything else I’m a bit hopeless.”

“Plants?”

The redhead shrugged. “I like gardening.”

“Really?” 

Now Aziraphale was definitely surprised. These weren’t exactly the hobbies he’d suspected someone like Crowley to have. Partying and drinking or sailing and shopping yes, that seemed par for the course, he’d thought. Decadent eating out every night and renting entire buildings for the day just because he could seemed typical but not getting greasy from fixing cars or dirty after working with plants. 

“Yes.” Crowley blinked behind the sunglasses and leaned back, making Aziraphale remember himself and do the same. They both took an oyster. “We have lovely gardens at ho- at the school. When everyone starts getting a bit much or I just want time to myself I go there when I don’t leave for a drive. They’re almost always empty.” His smile is slightly tinged with bitterness. “Not many people at the school like getting dirty or doing that sort of work.”

“What sort of work would that be?”

He sees the other man hesitate and he also sees the moment when Crowley decides to tell him anyway. Aziraphale isn’t sure how- usually he’s hopeless with reading people if he’s being honest- but he somehow knows that Crowley has decided to trust him. 

“Dirty, manual work.” He says it tiredly as if it’s a fact he’s grown long accustomed to but still doesn’t like. “Everything we do there is a farce. Superficial and empty. They pretend it helps people but they’re kidding themselves. They could do so much more.”

Aziraphale can only sit there and watch as the flush that had appeared on Crowley’s cheeks slowly leaves them. Both of them have entirely forgotten Anathema which is a good thing because she’s doing an awful job of hiding her finger movements as she takes picture after picture. 

“You can be different then.” Aziraphale shocks himself by saying. “Use your education for good instead of merely taking advantage of your position.”

Crowley’s look is sharp. “Nobody would believe it.”

“They would.” Especially after this article. “People always want someone to believe in and admire. Somebody to look up to.”

He still hesitated. “That’s a little played out, don’t you think? I always thought everyone was sick of it all.”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “I think they would surprise you.”

The prince falls quiet and Aziraphale looks back down at his food. Anathema’s foot nudges him under the table and he glances up to see her mouth wide open and questions obvious in her expression.

He shakes his head again and nods subtly down at the book before watching her face settle into a frown even as she tilts her head in silent confirmation.

Good. Even if the rest of the day was a complete bust they had some good pictures for the article. 

Luckily a waiter came over and broke the silence by asking them if they needed anything else. Afterwards Aziraphale poured both he and Crowley another glass of wine and his muffin plate was taken away conversation started up again, this time with Anathema included, and they passed their lunch away happily.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale dabbed his lips with his napkin as Crowley watched him in amusement. 

He noted the look but chose to store it away for later contemplation. A lot of people had given him glances when he ate, most disapproving, but Crowley seemed innocently delighted with Aziraphale’s love of food and he found that just this once he didn’t mind being watched at all.

“That was scrumptious,” he announces finally and Crowley laughs. 

“It was very good.” He agreed and Anathema hummed in agreement.

“Shall we be off then?” He asks them and they both nod. “Where should we go next?”

Crowley only shakes his head and refuses to come up with an idea. “This is your idea, angel, you tell me. I’m just a tourist today, remember?”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale tries to quickly come up with something.”What would you say to a walk around the Villa Borghese? It’s a beautiful garden here in Rome and I’ve been meaning to visit but never got around to it.” Then he feels the need to check. “Unless you’ve been there before?”

“I haven’t.” Crowley looks boyishly excited and Aziraphale feels a rush of pride go through him. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“Anathema-”

“I’ll just go-”

“Would you rather sit here and read or find a lovely spot in the garden to rest for a while?” It might be a tad heavy of a hint but Crowley is too busy finishing his glass of wine to pay attention. 

She glares at him quickly but grits through her teeth, “the garden sounds great.”

“Perfect! Come on then, Crowley.” 

He carefully guides the prince to the sidewalk with one hand on his back before doubling back to bend down beside Anathema. 

“Would you mind paying? I’m a bit short on cash but I’ll pay you back from my cut.”

Her sigh is long-suffering but her expression is fond. “You owe me big for this Aziraphale.”

“Thank you dear. We’ll just go on ahead, careful he doesn’t see you following us once we arrive.”

“I know how to do my job,” she mutters under her breath but Aziraphale is already moving back to quickly join Crowley. 

“She’s just going to pay but said we could go on ahead and she’ll find us eventually.” He explains and Crowley’s suspicion goes away. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

It’s almost definitely Aziraphale’s imagination that makes him think he and Crowley are walking much too close to one another but he chalks every brush of their arms up to the fact they’ve been drinking. Crowley probably doesn’t notice but the three times their hands touch Aziraphale determinedly tells himself that it’s nothing and to stop being so dramatic.

He only met the man last night, for Heaven’s sake, and he was a job. This was not the time to be romanticizing things. 

Crowley was busy telling him about how one day he swore he saw flies circling his teacher’s head “because he smelled so bad, angel, I’m not kidding” when they made it to the Villa. The garden was a huge attraction in Rome, basically in the center of the city, and home to beautiful fountains, walkways and a small lake. 

Entry was free- really Aziraphale had no excuse for never coming before- and as they walked through the sparse crowds of people wind blew gently as the warmth of the sun beat down on the two of them.

“This is nice.” Crowley said quietly after a few minutes. “It’s nice to be in places like this, with people around. Whenever I go it’s always so-”

He stopped abruptly but this time Aziraphale pushed. “Yes?”

“Whenever I’m in popular public places they’re either entirely empty or packed with people desperate for attention.” He hesitated. “Um, I mean my classmates are always hounding me.”

“Ah.” He pretended to accept the explanation. “Well none of that today. Today is ours and ours alone. Unfortunately you’re stuck with only me.”

Crowley glanced shyly at the ground and Aziraphale was oddly touched by the gesture. “Not so unfortunate. You are my savior after all,  _ angel _ .”

“Hmm, I believe I’m getting used to you calling me that.”

“Damn,” Crowley laughed. “Half the appeal was seeing you blush whenever I said it.”

“Really?” He spluttered and Crowley laughed more. “I never.”

“Oh loosen up, Aziraphale.” Crowley said easily. “Out of the two of us it should be me who goes on about formality and boundaries.”

“Why on earth is that?”

Crowley halts. “Um.”

Aziraphale kindly decides to rescue him. “I suspect the school drills that into all of you.”

His cheeks pinken. “I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that,” he mutters and raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale’s look of confusion. “But yeah, I guess.”

“Well my dear I suppose we’ll both have to relax and get over our reservations.” He replies. “Now which way?”

Crowley picks a direction at random and they continue walking, letting a few minutes pass in silent contemplation, until the prince speaks again.

“My dear. Awfully familiar of you for somebody you just met.”

“Oh really?” Aziraphale shoots back without missing a beat. “Angel?”

Crowley flushes a bit. “Alright point taken. And no need to call  _ me  _ that, I’m no angel. Some would say the opposite in fact.”

Aziraphale’s interest spiked so he ignored the obvious argument that he was no angel either. “Really? What would that make you then, hmm? A demon?”

Crowley laughs but it’s slightly bitter. “Quite. I’ve been called that more than once in my life.”

“My dear I refuse to believe it.” Aziraphale actually means it too. Curious yes, a bit cheeky definitely, but Crowley is no terror. Aziraphale doubts he’s allowed to be, what with being a prince and his family. “You’re the furthest thing from evil that I’ve ever known.”

His companion looks at him sharply before his face softens when he sees Aziraphale is serious. “Then you’d be the first.”

Aziraphale is beginning to suspect this has more meaning than he’d thought. Maybe it was more than Crowley simply misbehaving and being told off, perhaps there was something deeper. 

Crowley didn’t seem so bad. Not bad at all really, when Aziraphale thought of it. If things were different and Crowley wasn’t a prince- well, they still probably would never have met because Aziraphale suspected they would run in very different social groups. But if chance had thrown them together in that other life he would probably still like the man. Crowley tended plants, for goodness sake, he wasn’t exactly the devil. The worst thing he wanted was to rebel a teensy bit and have a day off. Aziraphale couldn’t see anything wrong with that. 

But looking at Crowley’s face he suspected that the reactions of those in charge of the prince’s life were very different. How often was he called evil just for wanting to have a normal day and be like everybody else once in a while?

“Who would say such a thing?” He asks softly.

“Oh everyone.”

“What about your parents?”

“Them? Please. I’m barely an afterthought, believe me. They have much more important things to think about than me.”

“Really? Your father?” Aziraphale is still having trouble putting the two ideas together. Crowley’s father. The king of a large and prosperous country. It was too hard to believe.

Then again, he found himself forgetting more and more that the person in front of him was the prince of said country. Crowley had more power in his signature than most people did in their lifetime.

The person in question snorts. “Dear old Dad? Come on. He’s practically Satan himself.”

“And your mother?”

“God, she’s so distant you wouldn’t believe. Too busy- erm.” He catches himself and Aziraphale sees him bite his tongue. “No angel, I’ve been surrounded by people like Hastur all my life.”

“Hastur?” Aziraphale perks up at that, wondering if Crowley was working up to an admission after all. “Isn’t he some sort of count or duke or something? The one visiting right now with the prince?”

Crowley freezes, fingers spasming for a second before he seems to force a smile. It looks terribly uncomfortable on his face and for a moment Aziraphale regrets being the one to put it there. “Er, no, different Hastur. This one’s name is Hastur… la Vista. My... teacher.”

Aziraphale would facepalm if that wouldn’t give the whole thing away. Instead he only barely manages to hide his amusement. “La Vista? How unusual.”

“Quite.” Crowley worries his bottom lip for a moment and Aziraphale absently notices his incisors are unusually sharp. “Anyway, he’s horrible. Him and his best mate Ligur follow me around all the time to make sure I’m in the right place and doing what I’m supposed to. I hate it.”

Aziraphale nods taking that in. Eventually he says, “you weren’t lying every time you said it was a strict school.”

“No.” Crowley scowls and pushes the sunglasses back up on his nose before they keep walking. “No I wasn’t.”

They meander easily. Crowley enjoys looking at the plants beside the walkway and Aziraphale enjoys watching him enjoy them. There’s something lovely and tender and open in his expression as he delicately cups the leaves or even just as he cocks his head to the side taking in the beauty of it all. 

Eventually they make their way to the Temple of Asclepius sitting on the small island in the center of the manmade lake. 

“Oh, that’s beautiful.” Aziraphale said hushed, unable to help himself. 

The little circle of land was surrounded by water that had couples rowing happily in little boats and ducks and swans swimming just as peacefully. With the bright blue sky, warm sun and hint of breeze that filled the air along with the low background noise of numerous conversations around them Aziraphale felt remarkably at peace. 

Crowley was watching him when he looked over to see what the prince thought. Something about his expression was thoughtful but Aziraphale flushed at having been caught in such a moment. 

He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say so he closed it again. Luckily he didn’t have to.

“Can we sit?” Crowley nodded over at a miraculously free bench by the lake looking out over the water and temple. “I could use a break.”

He suspected the prince didn’t need a break at all but Aziraphale wasn’t one to turn down kind gestures. If Crowley was offering just for him the last thing Aziraphale would do is pass it up. “Yes, my dear, let’s sit.”

“Have you really never been here before?” Crowley eventually asks with curiosity and Aziraphale shakes his head.

“No. The closest I’ve come to seeing something like this is St. James Park in London.” He smiles wistfully. “It’s beautiful too, you know, in it’s own way.”

“I’ve never been.” 

“Oh but you have to!” For a moment he forgets who he’s speaking to and turns to Crowley in shock. “Next time you’re in London-”

He cuts off sharply, remembering himself, but Crowley doesn’t take affront at Aziraphale bossing him around. Instead he looks rather happy. 

“I’ll make a note of it,” he murmurs quietly and Aziraphale turns to look back at the ducks floating nearby in an attempt to avoid the couples rowing their rented boats.

“We should have brought some food.”

“Like what?”

“You know.” Aziraphale waves a hand. “Grain, seeds, pieces of fruit, something of that kind.” When he glances over to see Crowley’s contemplative look he raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never fed ducks before?” 

The prince shook his head. “I don’t think I have actually.”

“Well that just won’t do.” Aziraphale makes an impulsive decision. “Stay there, save our seats. I’ll go and buy a packet of feed and be back in a moment.”

The look on Crowley’s face makes parting with the money for the overpriced bird food well worth it. When he returns the red head is already kneeling at the edge of the water, hand out invitingly, making soft noises at the ducks to try and entice them closer. Aziraphale who is far less of an animal person than the prince apparently is only hands over the bag of bird seed and stands to watch. 

“Not so hard,” he suggests while wincing as Crowley positively pelts the poor birds. One duck flapped its wings angrily but settled again quickly. “Gently. They’ll find whatever they miss eventually.”

“Alright angel.” 

Crowley sounds exasperated but Aziraphale suspects it’s put on. The next throw is more like a toss and the seeds spread to splash the water around or just in front of the two ducks instead of hitting their breasts so he supposes that his words had some impact. This could be his good deed of the day.

A few minutes passed between them easily, with Crowley feeding the ducks and making small noises of contentment, and Aziraphale breathing in deeply to help relax for the first time all day. No matter what happened here on out he suspected he had the bare necessities for some kind of article. It might not be an  _ expose  _ at all but rather a heartwarming piece about the kind and gentle prince. Which could work just as well; people loved fawning over celebrities just as much as tearing them down. As long as Aziraphale found the right angle and the perfect words he would be golden.

A glimpse of Anathema hidden a long distance away made him break out of his thoughts and when she saw him looking her hand rose to give him a thumbs up which he ignored before immediately turning back to Crowley. 

“Goodness you went through that rather quickly.” He commented in surprise at the empty bag dangling from his hand. 

“I offered to give you a throw but you were lost in thought.” His grin does horrible things to Aziraphlale’s heart beat. “Am I that distracting?”

Caught off guard he stutters indignantly while at a loss for words. “Well the nerve of you!”

“Calm down, angel, I’m only kidding.” 

Crowley tosses the bag on the ground and Aziraphale huffs and glares at him in silent admonishment as he moves to pick it up and throw it in the trash can beside their mercifully empty bench. 

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to litter?”

“Oh yes.” Crowley replies. “I can’t do anything like that in public it would damage my reputation and be bad for- erm, the reputation of the school. I just thought why not this once. While I could.”

“Well you can’t.” Aziraphale replies. “Just because you now have the freedom to do certain things doesn’t always mean you should. Honestly.”

“No need to worry while you’re here looking after me though is there? Cleaning up my messes.”

“I am not your mother.”

“No.” Crowley quiets quickly at the reminder and Aziraphale sighs at his own stupidity. “No you’re definitely not.”

Ah well. Best to use the chance while he can.

“How often do you see your parents?” He ventures. “What with you being away.”

“Hmm, more than you might think. But never for anything other than business.”

“Business?”

“Yes.” Crowley kicks his legs out to stretch them, ignoring the irritated looks from passers by. “I’m to take over the family industry one day. My whole life the only relationship I’ve had with either of my parents is when they need to help train me for it in some way.”

“Dear me.” And Aziraphale had thought he had a rotten father. “Really? All of your life?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “None of us got a choice, you know, it’s sort of… been in the family for a while. There’s a lot of pressure.” He looked at Aziraphale out of the corner of the sunglasses. “I shouldn’t be telling you all of this you know.”

“No?”

“No.” Crowley laughs. “They’d have my head if they knew. In fact, they’ll already want my head for skiving today, this will just be the final nail in my coffin.”

Aziraphale can only stare at him and the sad look he wore. “It doesn’t sound as if you enjoy it very much.”

That stops the prince and his self-deprecation slowly disappears to be replaced with a seriousness Aziraphale hadn’t expected.

“No I suppose it doesn’t.” He got as an answer. “It’s complicated you know.”

“How so?” He tries to find Crowley’s eyes behind the shades of the glasses. “If you don’t like it can’t you walk away? Your own happiness must be worth something, surely.”

“It’s not that simple either.” Crowley speaks slowly and carefully, picking his words so as not to give too much away. “People count on my family. Some think they need us.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think…” He hesitated for a long time. “I don’t think people need us. I think my parents and their people encourage that idea so we can keep getting money and using it for our own advantage to keep our fancy cars and vacation homes. But even though it would be a lot of work to, erm, shut down our business, I think everyone would be fine in the long run. Nobody needs us anymore.”

“So you don’t want it then.”

“No I don’t.” Crowley swallowed. “I haven’t for a long time, truth be told. But like I said people are counting on me.”

“You could be selfish.” Aziraphale’s heart gives a pang. “You could walk away. If your position is so powerful then they would have to let you, wouldn’t they?”

“Not necessarily.” His smile is wry. “It’s not really up to me. I’m just a pawn. To be used whenever and wherever they need me most.”

“I don’t believe that. Each of us have responsibilities. Not only to those around us but to ourselves as well. If your future role really has so much privilege then use it. If the burden is so bad then change it. Get out. Nobody can force you to do anything.”

“You don’t understand.” Crowley says and for the first time that day he does sound snide and patronizing. “The people I represent, the ones I work for, they deserve my services. Even if they don’t realize it I do my best for them. I do my best to keep them safe and avert trouble and-”

“-represent them.” Aziraphale finishes. “Yes and I think you could do very well in your highly important job, Crowley, but that doesn’t mean it’s worth making yourself unhappy forever. Especially when the people who rely on you could manage without you.” He tries to search his face. “You can set both you and them free.”

“I’ll never be free.” Crowley says bitterly and then stands, abruptly ending the conversation, as he moves to continue walking. “Come on angel, time to get moving.”

Aziraphale wants to say more but the look on Crowley’s face and his own brain reminding him that he should stay on Crowley’s good side to get more information later makes him bite his tongue. Who is he to advise a prince on such matters anyway? This morning he didn’t even know who Crowley was. 

Best to stay out of things he didn’t understand.

* * *

“I’ve spoken so much today.” Crowley says suddenly as they walk together. “I know almost nothing about you. What do you do for work?”

“Oh.” He’s caught off guard at the sudden question though he should have anticipated it. Just because Crowley had been stopped from getting an answer before didn’t mean he would just give up. 

In the end he decided to go with the truth. “I’m an author.”

This time when Crowley stops he is expecting it. 

“Fiction,” he clarifies, not liking the stricken look on the prince’s face, and doing his best to make it disappear. “And I’m not actually published yet. I suppose one could say I’m an aspiring author. Right now I just do short pieces.”

It’s not a lie, not really, but still Aziraphale feels guilty as Crowley visibly relaxes. The feeling only intensifies at the look he gives him shortly after. One full of encouragement and support and belief that it almost makes Aziraphale want to tell him the truth.

“I’m sure you’re very good.” He says kindly.

“Maybe.” Perhaps it’s the guilt making him feel like he needs to be honest. He’s sick of lying. “The truth is I’m too scared to show it to anybody.”

“Oh. Erm, not to be blunt, but if you can’t show anybody your writing then how can you ever hope to be published?”

“I can’t.” He says unhappily. “Not until I work up the courage.”

Crowley is quiet for a bit. “I would help you if I could. But I understand being afraid.”

The look they share is heavy and Crowley breaks it first. “Right then. Tell me something else. A secret.”

“What sort of secret?”

“Anything.” He shrugs. “Something you’ve always wanted to do but never have. Apart from publishing your book.”

Aziraphale isn’t usually as open with his thoughts as this but he finds it isn’t hard with Crowley. Unlike with everybody else, who he always compares himself to, or feels judged by, as ridiculous as it sounds it’s as if he and Crowley are equals. Both were afraid to be who they wanted. In Aziraphale’s case an author and in Crowley’s a normal person without the weight of a crown. 

Both of them lonely. 

It’s all of this that makes him answer honestly, as honest as he hopes Crowley has been with him all day.

“I’ve always wanted to dine at the Ritz.” Aziraphale confesses. “My parents knew one couple, wealthy you know, and they used to eat there at least once a month. I know it’s silly but ever since I was a kid and heard that I’ve always thought it would be the height of luxury to be able to afford to eat there. A sign of- not even of wealth, just of having enough money to be comfortable.” He catches himself, feeling the beginnings of embarrassment. “Ahem. But maybe a picnic would be more realistic.”

Crowley is quiet for a bit until he suddenly says, “I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook. I think I’d be rather good at it too.”

“Truly?” Aziraphale can’t imagine having servants around to cook and serve your every meal and then wanting to do it all yourself. “I never took to it myself. The result I like, food is a bit of an indulgence of mine. But the making of it? Anything beyond a cup of cocoa is too difficult when I could just order in.”

Crowley smiles. “Maybe the difference is cooking for two instead of one. That’s how I always picture it, anyway.” His expression dims. “It would be nice to cook for somebody else. I like to think- well maybe I’d like that.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale says kindly. “Things are usually better when you don’t have to do them alone.”

They continue on both lost in thought.

* * *

By the time they make it back to the entrance of the garden Anathema is sitting on a bench with a new book in her lap waiting for them.

“There you both are!” She said happily and Aziraphale tactfully avoided the pointed look on her face. “How was it?”

He shared a look with Crowley. “Beautiful.” 

“Yes,” Crowley’s voice was a tone softer than usual. “Well worth it.”

“Sounds great.” She says easily and slips to walk between them. “Crowley do you mind if I steal Aziraphale for a moment? Relationship advice, you know how it is.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and Aziraphale half-heartedly protests as she drags him away out of Crowley’s earshot.

“Anathema!” He hisses. “How rude!”

“He’s fine, look at him.” She doesn’t even glance over to Crowley who stared after them with furrowed brows before turning to take in the nature around them. “Look Aziraphale what exactly is your game here?”

He tenses. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you have plenty to write about in that article of yours by now, the poor boy doesn’t exactly hide how lonely and miserable he is. And I took the pictures, like you asked.” She stares at him expectantly. “I thought you said you only met him last night.”

“I did.”

“Well it sure doesn’t seem like it.” She replies bluntly. “You two look like a pair of courting lovestruck fools.”

That draws him up short and he finally looks away from Crowley to her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I’ve been in this business a long time and I know what I see through the lens of my camera. I know what people will see in those pictures when I show them. And this prince of yours is staring at you in half of these shots like you’ve personally hung the moon for him.”

“I’ve given him a day off when he’s had nothing but duties and obligations for years.” He says back without giving anything away. 

Not that there is anything to give away. The nerves he feels aren’t relevant to this conversation. 

“You read too much into everything.” Aziraphale cuts her off before she can reply. “Did you get pictures we can use? Ones of him alone?”

She sighs. “Yes. Damn good ones too, your boy is photogenic. Look at this one.” 

Her phone screen lights up and she turns it to show him a picture of Crowley feeding the ducks with a brilliant smile, almost as if he was caught mid-laugh, his entire face lit up happily. 

“Oh.” It escapes Aziraphale’s mouth without his permission and he takes the phone, careful not to accidentally brush the screen in case the picture disappears without him knowing how to get it back. 

“I know.” Anathema sounds grumpily irritated and it makes Aziraphale roll his eyes at her which she sees and glares at him for. “I thought that would be good for sure since I’m assuming you're going to end up doing an article that makes him look good and the monarchy bad.”

He glances up out of the corner of his eye. “Why would you think that?”

“He’s not the only one who’s looked like a lovestruck fool all day.” She mutters and waves away his protests. “Come on. I’ll go home and edit these. Get more for your article and if you want me to come back then give me a call.”

“Sure.” They begin walking back over to Crowley who is now tapping one foot impatiently in wait. “Thank you, Anathema.”

“Anything for you, Aziraphale,” she says easily as they reach Crowley and then she gives the prince a smile. “Well I must be off, Aziraphale’s given me some wonderful advice, should patch things right up. Crowley, it was lovely to meet you. Aziraphale I’ll see you soon I’m sure.” She winks at him. “Have a good rest of your day boys.”

“You too.” Crowley says while Aziraphale bids her farewell and then she’s turning away in a whirl of skirts and striding purposely off to be swallowed by the crowd. 

“She seems fun.”

“Very. Helped me out of a tricky spot or two at work and we’ve been friends ever since.” He smiles over at Crowley as they leave the Villa. “I think I latched on to her a bit, to tell the truth. She was the first decent person I met here and kindly allowed me to infiltrate her friend circle. Without her I’d still be completely alone.”

“Hm.” Crowley’s hum is contemplative. “You like to be alone?”

Aziraphale hesitates before finding the words. “I think I’m rather like you my dear. Lonely even when I’m surrounded by people. Always the odd one out.”

The glance they share is heavy until Crowley suddenly breaks into a wide grin. “But not today.”

“No.” Aziraphale can’t help but slowly smile as well. “Not today.”

* * *

They grab another quick bite to eat and decide to wander the city a bit until they get tired. Perhaps Aziraphale should have been worried about Crowley being recognized but the haircut and sunglasses seemed to be doing wonders in that department and if he was being completely honest he’d been preoccupied with other things.

Maybe Crowley had been keeping it in mind but if so he’s given no hint of it and Aziraphale has no reason to ask him. In fact things are going better than Aziraphale could ever have dreamed until a strange man catches sight of them and begins to call out to them both. 

But this is the world of camera phones and relentless paparazzi and Aziraphale’s luck isn’t strong enough to give them an entire peaceful day.

Aziraphale is licking a cone of gelato and Crowley is working on a popsicle and they’re both standing leaning towards one another lost in conversation just in front of the ice cream shop. It’s Aziraphale who notices when the small man with the camera hanging around his neck passes by but he glances at Crowley a second later to see the prince frozen mid-sentence, eyes tracking the photographer closely. When Aziraphale glances back it’s just in time to see the man slow down and do a double-take when he looks back at them.

“Shit.” Crowley curses and immediately drops his lolli. “Aziraphale we need to go.”

“Yes, alright.” He doesn’t put up a fight because he’s seen the widening of the other man’s eyes as well. “Good idea.”

He’s barely able to spare an apologetic smile for the nice lady selling the sweet frozen treats before Crowley grabs his hand and pulls him along so quickly that he drops his cone and lets out a mournful sound.

“I’ll buy you another!” Crowley hisses at him and Aziraphale shoots him a glare even as they begin to run in earnest.

“How? You don’t have any money!”

“Oh right. Well nevermind that now, come on.” The red head pulls at him insistently.

Aziraphale can hear the man behind them beginning to shout, hears the cries of “Crawley! Crawley! Prince Crawley!” His lungs work on taking deep breaths of air as Crowley leads them both in a winding path between people and tries to mutter apologies to everybody they pass. Within minutes they come upon a side alley and Crowley turns sharply and leads him down it. 

Though the voice has disappeared by now there’s still something spooked about his companion so Aziraphale allows him to keep them going for a few minutes more, turning and running down to a residential area before he gasps out, “alright, alright, I think we’re okay.”

He digs his heels in and resists Crowley’s tugs. “No really Crowley, that’s enough. Stop, please, I need to catch my breath.”

“What? Come on, angel!”

“Crowley.” He snapped. “We’re fine. Just… wait a moment.”

He spends a few moments focusing on nothing but his breathing and the rushing in his ears while in the background there’s the thumping of his heartbeat. Before it completely dies down Crowley’s face changes from one of panic to embarrassment. 

The prince scuffs one shoe on the cobbled street. “Erm so I suppose you’re wondering what that was all about-”

Aziraphale flinches as all of a sudden a bright red object flies towards them both and smacks Crowley on the side of the face. He has to blink away the sudden spray of liquid that coats him and jumps further away despite the fact he already feels the wetness seeping into his own clothing.

“Ach!” Crowley jumps too and waves his arms about in a ridiculous gesture that should not be as endearing as Aziraphale thinks it is. “What is it, why am I all wet?” 

He unsticks the corner of his own shirt to bring up and smell. “Water?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale says in realization as his eyes fall on red scraps lying at their feet. “Crowley look! A water balloon.”

“Water balloon?”

Aziraphale turns and scans their surroundings. “But where did it come-”

“Get them!” A young but authoritative voice cries and before either of them can blink four tiny bodies have appeared to swarm them. Two from behind a dumpster, one from a doorway alcove and the last from around the corner of a house. 

They’re blurs of colour that are only made more difficult to see clearly when three more water balloons come flying at both he and Crowley.

“Duck!” Crowley yells and then proceeds to actually throw himself onto the ground to avoid being hit once more. 

Aziraphale, sadly slow in the reflex department, is miraculously able to miss the first balloon but not so lucky when it comes to the next two which hit him only seconds apart with two very loud pops and proceed to drench his waistcoat, shirt and trousers.

“Again!” The voice from before cries and Aziraphale barely manages to blearily whip his head around to spot a young curly brown-haired boy of about 11 raise his arm before he decides enough is truly enough.

“No!” He says in his firmest and most intimidating voice possible. He’s not one to get angry often but some things he just will not stand for and mercilessly attacking two unsuspecting strangers with childrens toys is one of them. “Everybody stop right now and do not move!”

By the grace of God herself somehow the kids listen to him.

“Right. Right then.” He mutters and looks down at his bedraggled companion. With a sigh he bends down to help Crowley up and they make a passable attempt at patting one another down to get themselves in order while carefully eyeing up the band of misfits.

Three boys and a girl are the culprits, all around the same age. The girl is staring at them seriously and her brown eyes appear to miss nothing. Her red rain jacket and rubber boots make a lot of sense despite the sunny weather and as Aziraphale scans the children he can see none of the boys thought to dress as well in preparation for their game. 

One of them is tall and freckly with something that Aziraphale hopes is chocolate at the corners of his mouth. His expression is set in determination and he ignores the nudging from the boy beside him who seems a bit nervous now that they’ve been apprehended. That one is smaller and wearing glasses which have slipped down his nose a bit but can’t be pushed up because both of his hands are currently holding balloons filled with water. 

But it’s the fourth of the group, the boy who spoke earlier, who stares at them with defiant eyes and a huge happy smile. His face is friendly and when Aziraphale catches his gaze he finds his anger disappearing almost against his will. 

They’re just children playing, he tells himself, and he can’t fault them for that.

“Are you alright?” Crowley breaks his surveillance to inquire worriedly. “You’re a bit soaked.”

“No worse than you.” He takes in the black vest Crowley has been wearing. “I do hope the water won’t damage that.”

Crowley looks down at his chest too. “It should be fine. And if not it won’t be the end of the world.”

At the same time their attention moves from each other to the kids who have come to stand together in front of them. “Now, what to do with these little hellions.”

Aziraphale smiles as the girl straightens and proclaims. “Don’t be such babies, it’s only water!”

“Pepper!” The nervous one exclaims before looking at them both. “Please don’t tell our parents, my mum’s still mad at me for the last time!”

“Quiet Wensleydale!”

“I mean it Brian, I don’t want to miss dinner again!”

“Both of you quiet.” They fall silent immediately and both Aziraphale and Crowley zero in on the third boy who is, at this point, obviously the group’s leader. He is staring at them both and his happy expression has disappeared slightly to be replaced with one of challenge. “Are you going to tell our parents?”

“Hmm.” Crowley scans them all before looking at Aziraphale with a smile playing at his lips. The kids didn’t seem to realize neither of them knew who on earth their parents were or where to find them even if they had been in the mood to tattle on children for playing their games. “What do you say, angel? Shall we let them get away with it?”

“Oh I don’t know my dear, what say you?”

“Well seeing as there was no real harm done…”

“We do both seem to have come out relatively unscathed…” Aziraphale agreed.

“Then I suppose they can be allowed to- quick, hide!” 

Once more Aziraphale finds himself being grabbed by Crowley and dragged, this time to crouch behind the dumpster where the four kids quickly scramble and follow them until they’re all huddled together behind the green-painted metal bin.

“”What is it?” Pepper hisses and the kids all turn to look at Crowley. 

Aziraphale peeks around the corner of the chipped paint covered box and spots the photographer from earlier. 

“Goodness he’s quite determined isn’t he?” He says to himself but Crowley curses beside him. 

Aziraphale actually sees the moment the idea occurs to the prince because Crowley goes from frowning to grinning devilishly in a second. “Hey kids, if you really want to get back in our good graces you could use the rest of those balloons of yours to run that man off.”

Their leader contemplates that for a moment or two before nodding. “Seems fair enough. Pepper, Brian, Wensley- attack!”

The three of them scramble out screaming to fire their arsenal and Aziraphale watches the photographer shoot up into the air in surprise just as a yellow balloon splashes across his back. 

“Do you two want to help?” The boy nods at a bucket of full balloons a foot or so away that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before in all of the commotion. 

Crowley hesitates before his face falls. “I shouldn’t. But Aziraphale…?”

“I’ll stay with you, my dear.” Aziraphale says quickly and Crowley smiles at him before they turn back to the boy. “It’s up to you, young man.”

“Cor.” He grins toothily at them. “I’m Adam by the way,” is his parting sentence before he jumps out from behind the bin to help his friends drive the photographer away. 

“Basta, basta!” They hear the man cry. “Dannati bambini, lasciami solo!”

Aziraphale can’t help but smile as the man curses the kids and begs them to stop. Crowley has no hesitation in peeking around and then bursting into full body laughter as the sounds of running and yelling and bursting balloons fills the alley.

“Woohoo!” The small boy named Wensleydale appears in front of them making Crowley work to try and contain himself while Aziraphale looks on in amusement. “You can come out now, he’s gone.”

Crowley stands smoothly and is kind enough to help Aziraphale up too. “Well done. Perhaps it’s lucky we ran into you little blighters after all.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale chastises half-heartedly before turning to look at the children. “You all did wonderfully and we are in your debt.”

“That was brilliant!” 

“I think you managed to get him on the head, Adam!” The one named Brian says to the leader. 

“And I got his stomach!” Wensley piped up proudly.

As one the children turned to them and Adam tilted his head. The seriousness from before is back though Aziraphale still thought he appeared largely unconcerned. “Does this mean you won’t tell our parents now?”

Aziraphale’s smile was a tad fond. He wasn’t one for children but these four had managed to charm him. “No, I don’t think so, will we Crowley?”

“Nah,” the words were accompanied by a sniff as he brushed his nails on his chest and studied them in feigned nonchalance. “We’re already so busy it seems more effort than it’s worth really. Lucky for you lot.”

“Lucky for you we chased that man away.” Pepper piped up. “Was he following you?”

“It seems so.”

“Why?” Adam asked curiously.

Aziraphale hesitated now, not sure what he could say. Crowley is watching him and even with the glasses Aziraphale can tell that his new friend is apprehensive. 

“He must have thought we were somebody important.” Is what he finally says and the warmth he feels at the look his words produce on Crowley’s face lets him know he’s said the right thing.

“Are you?” Brian presses and Crowley smiles happily.

“Not at all.”

All of their faces fall. 

“That’s alright.” Adam says kindly as if trying to reassure them. Aziraphale finds himself smiling again. “Sometimes it takes a while to figure out what you want to do so you can get important. My parents say I don’t have to figure it out until I’m older.”

“Your parents would be right.” Aziraphale says all while thinking how absurd this situation is. 

“Hey.” Adam’s face lights up. “If you’re not going to tell on us do you want to play too? We have loads more balloons, Brian bought a whole pack.”

Brian puffed his chest out proudly and Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes through the shades.

“Well if we’re not doing anything else?” 

Aziraphale nods in agreement. “Our clothes are already ruined. Sounds quite fun really.”

“Brilliant!” Adam says happily. “This is Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale, but you can just call him Wensley, and I’m Adam. We’re the Them.”

“The Them?”

“Yeah it’s the name of our group.” Pepper explains. “So people know we’re not part of the Johnsonites.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded as if this all made perfect sense while ignoring the completely lost look Crowley shot him. “My name is Aziraphale and this is Crowley. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Adam said and this seemed to signal the end of the introductions. “Now, everybody. Arm yourselves!”

With the children’s cheers filling the alley Aziraphale and Crowley went to ready themselves with balloons before sharing a smile and throwing themselves into the fray, natural allegiances making teams of them against the kids.

By the end of the afternoon after several switching of teams and underhanded moves on the part of Crowley, Adam and Brian (in Aziraphale, Pepper and Wensley’s humble opinion at least) all of them are dripping water and yelling insults and bickering as they walk the children back home.

Aziraphale can’t remember ever laughing so much in his life.

* * *

The kids are sad to see them go and demand they all take a picture together using Aziraphale’s phone. Crowley has the longest arms and so is in the center of them all holding the phone stretched up in the air as they press their faces side by side for them all to fit. And Aziraphale doesn’t have many pictures on his phone but he already knows that this is the one he will go back to look at over and over and treasure the most. 

Brian is first to leave and then Wensley a couple of houses down on the same street. Pepper’s family lives on the corner and she tiredly waves them goodbye before trudging inside. From their spot outside the door Aziraphale can hear her yell upstairs to her mother that she’s home and had the best afternoon.

It makes him and Crowley smile and Adam sighs before tugging on their hands and saying “come on, this way.”

He leads them over to the next street slowly and looks up at them both. Aziraphale is lagging slightly behind while he stares at the photo on his phone and so Adam’s attention settles on Crowley who walks beside him. Aziraphale’s eyes flicker up to their backs when he hears Adam start to speak.

“You lied before didn’t you? You are important. I’ve seen you on the cover of my mum’s magazines.” The young boy is nothing but curious and Aziraphale inhales sharply. “Although your hair looked different.”

“I…” Crowley glances at Aziraphale who looks down at his phone quickly, pretending he isn’t paying attention, that he is too far back to hear. When the prince speaks again it’s much quieter. “Yes. But you can’t tell anybody, alright? It’s a secret.”

“Why?”

“Because I ran away to have fun for the day and if anybody finds out where I am they’ll try to bring me back before I’m ready to go.” Aziraphale hears the ache in his voice and yearns to reach out and touch his hand in comfort or offer a smile or something. “Do you understand?”

“Like you pretended you were sick so you didn’t have to go to school and now nobody can know or they’ll get mad?”

Aziraphale peeks up again to see Crowley staring down at Adam in surprise. “Yes. Yes almost exactly like that. So don’t say anything. Not even to Aziraphale.”

Adam whispers too. “Will he tell on you?”

A long pause follows the question. 

“I don’t know. And I don’t want to ruin our day by finding out.”

“It’s okay.” For all his effort Adam whispers very loudly. “I’ll keep your secret.”

“Thanks kid. You’re not bad, you know.”

“Thanks.” Adam sighs. “You should tell my parents. Better yet my neighbour Mr. Tyler. He thinks I’m the worst.”

“Well believe me, I’ve met the worst.” Crowley hesitantly pats Adam’s shoulder. “You’re not it.”

Aziraphale’s phone goes dark as it’s forgotten and his hand falls while he stares after them both, unsure of why exactly his chest feels tight all of a sudden.

Deciding he’d best catch up with them he moved quickly until he was walking on Adam’s other side. “You’re not encouraging him to attack more helpless pedestrians tomorrow are you Crowley?”

“Just finished pointing out the best places to hide,” the prince says smoothly making Aziraphale smile. “Too bad you missed the lesson, angel.”

“You’re both weird.” Adam said decidedly before Aziraphale could reply and stopped outside a door to an upper floor apartment. “But I like you. Thanks for playing today. You guys can come back again sometime if you want.”

“Ah we’d love to but that might not be possible.” Aziraphale says apologetically but smiles to distract Adam after catching a glimpse of Crowley’s expression. The prince looks incredibly sad and Aziraphale can’t say he enjoys seeing it. “But it was very lovely to meet you all. The highlight of our day I think.”

“Okay.” Adam shrugs easily. “See you around.”

And just like that he turns to slip inside leaving the two of them at the door. 

“Ah to be young again.” Aziraphale laments and Crowley snorts lightly. “Shall we my dear?”

In a fit of courage he offers his arm and though Crowley hesitates a second he slides his own arm through and stays close to Aziraphale as they turn and walk back down the sidewalk. Both of them are quiet, reflecting on their unexpected activities and newfound friends of this afternoon, and Aziraphale finds himself feeling happy and content. 

“What now angel?” 

“Hmm.” The idea has been playing around in his head for a few minutes now and after a long look at Crowley he decides to just take the leap. “I think I know a place that will let us in, as bedraggled and sopping wet as we are. We can get some food and spend the evening there, what do you say?”

Interest perks Crowley up a bit. “I say lead the way.”

“Wonderful.” 

Off they go together arm and arm in Rome following the disappearing light of the sunset as it stretches away in front of them.

* * *

The building they walk up to is tucked away in between a pub and a gym and many pedestrians probably pass it by entirely without realizing the old wooden door is an entrance to a business of its own.

“Here?” Crowley asks him skeptically. “You’re not about to murder me are you? Or ask me to join a cult?”

Aziraphale laughs and his nerves skyrocket. “And here I thought I was being subtle. No, Crowley, it’s a legitimate establishment, I promise.”

“Well alright then.” Is the doubtful reply.

They both wait after Aziraphale knocks on the door until the faint sound of footfalls thump through the door and the handle turns to open it just wide enough that a black haired woman blinks at them blearily. Her gaze falls on Crowley first and she begins to frown before her attention shifts to Aziraphale and just like that her expression turns from confused to understanding. 

“Aziraphale, I was wondering when you would next show up.” 

She doesn’t sound happy but then again Bee never does. The emphasis on the z sound in his name is as prominent as ever, reminding him of a buzzing fly, and she crosses her arms even while opening the door wide enough for them to come inside. 

“Hello Bee.” He greets her. “This is a friend of mine, Crowley.”

“Mmm. How long’s it been then? A month at least.” For so short of a woman she’s always intimidated him and Aziraphale feels like he’s under interrogation.

“A little while to be sure.” He smiles charmingly and evades answering directly. “Is Dagon cooking tonight?”

“It’s Friday isn’t it?” But her face softens slightly at the mention of her partner. “I pay them, they show up, that’s what’s in the contract.”

“And they never disappoint.” He agrees and helps Crowley out of his coat before passing it to Bee to hang up at the coat check at the door. “Cover?”

He hasn’t paid cover charge here since his first night but that never stops him from asking. 

“Sure.” She snorts. “Go to the back and speak with Dagon for five minutes at some point. Consider that your cover.”

“You’re an angel, you know.”

“Never say that again.” She says in disgust and then turns back to Crowley. “Have I seen you around here before? You look awfully familiar.”

“Erm- now- ngh…”

Saving Crowley from a spluttering half formed explanation Aziraphale slides in smoothly. “He’s a newcomer I’m afraid, and a tad nervous at that. Just has one of those faces, people mistake him for celebrities all the time.”

“That must be it.” Bee says and then seems to lose any interest in the conversation and turns away to lead them up the slim flight of stairs to the main floor. 

Aziraphale catches Crowley’s eye and sends him a reassuring smile. Crowley smiles back and slowly takes off his sunglasses, folding them to hang from the front of his shirt. 

One of Aziraphale’s steps is particularly heavy and his shoe squelches against the stair making the three of them freeze. Bee turns her head over her shoulder to pin them both with a glare as they stare wide-eyed. 

“I don’t want to know.” She decides after a good minute of silence and Aziraphale hears Crowley breathe out audibly in relief. When he meets the prince’s eye the redhead smiles sheepishly at him.

“She’s intimidating.”

“True enough.” He murmurs back and then they’re coming out onto the dimly lit space that serves as Aziraphale’s local gay bar. 

The lights are low at the moment to give a dining atmosphere though Aziraphale knows coloured strobes will come on later when the place fills up for dancing. The center of the room is a dance floor but at the moment there are a few dinner tables set up sparsely and most of them are full. One end of the room has a bar the length of the entire wall and behind the bar is a window through which Aziraphale can spot Dagon in their chef’s hat and the assistant cook who he’s always thought looked suspiciously like Elvis Presley.

“Anywhere that’s free,” Bee waves them out into the room and Aziraphale nods at her in thanks before leading Crowley over to the most distant and deserted table.

“Will this do?”

“Sure.” He looks around. “What is this place?”

“A club.” He hesitates when Crowley nods. “A gay club. It’s the only place I come when I feel like going out.”

“Oh.” Crowley’s eyes widened in realization “I see.”

Aziraphale watches him nervously and lets out a deep sigh of relief when Crowley seems to relax in his seat and pick up a menu. “I’ll fit right in then.”

Oh thank God. He’d hoped- but then there was never anyway to be sure- still he’d thought perhaps- anyway. That was that cleared up. 

He ignores it when some of his own tension disappears. That hadn’t been so bad had it? Though Aziraphale had limited experience when it came to coming out- as in he could count the number of times he’d told somebody he was gay on one hand- he hadn’t wanted to hide this from Crowley. 

Somehow, he realized, within the span of the day Crowley has become very important to him. Not only that but he’s somebody that Aziraphale feels entirely comfortable around which is ridiculous, really, when one thought about their differences in station. But Crowley had never made Aziraphale feel poor or like a screw up. Even if it was just due to the simple fact that he hadn’t had enough time and exposure to do so Aziraphale didn’t care; he wasn’t going to take it for granted. 

“Right then.” He perused the menu with pursed lips. “What do you feel like? I can promise that whatever you order will taste divine.”

“I’m not really sure. Maybe pasta?”

“Hmm. That sounds nice.”

“That’s decided then.” He says with finality. “What are you having?”

“I think I’ll have fish and chips tonight.” He’s been particularly homesick today after all and he might as well benefit in some way from it. “To drink?”

“Some more wine sounds lovely, actually, what do you say?”

“Yes I think so too. Oh here’s Carmine.” 

The red-headed waitress strolled up to them cavalierly, notepad in hand, pencil tucked behind her ear and a mischievous smile stretching her red painted lips. “Evening, can I start you two off with anything? Drinks, appetizers, the sudden urge to take out everybody in the room?”

“What?” 

Aziraphale kept his smile on through Crowley’s shocked questions though it grew fixed. Carmine always liked to stir up trouble. “Always did have a strange sense of humor Carmine.”

“The fight is what keeps life interesting Az,” she said and the nickname made him wince. He’d never been a fan of people shortening his name. She blew a strand of her hair away from her face and took the pencil out from her ear before holding up the orderpad expectantly. “Well?”

“Erm.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale hesitantly, as if checking it was safe to speak, to which he nodded. “I’ll have the carbonara please. And a glass of your house red.”

“Lovely. Az?”

He grit his teeth. “Fish and chips and a glass of house white please.”

“Great.” She scooped up the menus. “Be back in a bit.”

Crowley turned from watching her to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “She’s… charming.”

He smiled thinly. Carmine wasn’t easy going and had started more bar fights than she’d broken up but Bee and Dagon loved her and so they kept her around. 

It helped, Aziraphale supposed, that she was extremely beautiful. Not that it did much for him but anybody with working vision would notice. 

“She’s something.” He agreed before changing the topic. “Adam and his lot were fun weren’t they?”

Crowley’s whole face lit up and they immediately fell into conversation about the kids which led to Aziraphale lamenting the fact that Anathema hadn’t got to meet them because she would have loved them which turned into them talking about their morning. It didn’t take long before they turned to other things and by the time their dinner appeared they’d had a couple of glasses of wine and were commiserating about their respective childhoods. 

“Do you know,” Aziraphale said a bit morosely as he stared at their empty plates, “I think you know more about me than anybody else in the world.”

Crowley was twisting the wine glass stem between his fingers but the movement stopped immediately at the words. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ve never brought anybody here before. You know I want to be an author. About my parents kicking me out.” 

His heart twisted but his face forced a smile. Though his mother had apologized and gotten close with him again Aziraphale had never spoken to his father again after that fight. Not even at his mothers funeral. He hadn’t been surprised when there had only been a few attendants at his fathers a year later. 

He shook his head to come back to the present. “You’re remarkably easy to talk to.”

Crowley’s eyes met his and it was like they were both holding their breath waiting before he spoke. “Look, Aziraphale.”

His stomach clenched and his heart began to pound. Oh no, what had he said wrong? Was that too much? Disappointment swept through him like a crushing wave. He always did something, didn’t he? Always said the wrong words or made the wrong face or waited too long and messed it all up.

But Crowley surprised him. 

“I- there’s something I should tell you.” He was frowning and fidgeting. “I’m really- you see I’m not-”

“It’s alright Crowley.” He reached a hand out to gently stop the prince’s nervous movements with his fingers. 

His own anxiety had disappeared to be replaced with relief but it was bittersweet. Somehow he just knew that Crowley was trying to come clean about who he was and suddenly it was the last thing Aziraphale wanted. 

If Crowley told him who he really was the rest of the night would be different. They would both have the weight of that knowledge restricting them whereas now with both of them feigning ignorance they could go on pretending and just… be who they wanted rather than who they really were. Who the world needed them to be.

Besides if Crowley confessed then Aziraphale would too. And not only would that ruin the rest of their night but it would ruin the entire day. It would surely put an expression on Crowley’s face that Aziraphale couldn’t bear to see. 

“Really.” He repeated when Crowley went to open his mouth again and perhaps he was too desperate to avoid confessions because he said more than he usually would have. “Whatever it is just know that I- I like you, here and now, as you have been. The you that I have spent all of today with is the you that I feel comfortable with. It’s the you I want to finish the day with. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

“But-”

“Hey sorry to interrupt but we need to get these tables out of the way for dancers.” Raven Sable, another employee of Bee and Dagon’s, appeared at their sides. “Bee said you wouldn’t mind me kicking you two out Aziraphale, and that your meal was on the house, but any more drinks you buy are on you two.”

“Oh that’s not a problem, thanks.” He glanced over at Crowley who, while not looking happy per se, did seem relieved. “I’ll go and speak to Dagon quickly actually if you don’t mind, Crowley. Would you like to come?”

“Huh? No. No. I think I’ll use the restroom actually, excuse me.” He hurried away and left Aziraphale to stare after him forlornly.

“I didn’t interrupt a lovers spat did I?” Sable asked calmly while picking up the clean plates. Aziraphale watched him sigh. “Not a spot left on these is there? It’s all gone. How anyone could stand to eat is beyond me.”

He really needed to have a word with Bee about replacing some of her waitstaff. They were a tad… odd.

“Well if you’re alright here,” he said before laughing awkwardly and hurrying away to where Dagon was closing down the kitchen.

“Aziraphale.” They smiled when they caught sight of him and he smiled back. “I was wondering when you would come back to say hi.”

“Dagon.” He shook their hand. “Tonight's food was delicious, as always.”

“Fish and chips and pasta? Not exactly the hardest thing to make.”

“But you always get the fish tasting just like back home. Why do you think I come here more than anywhere else?”

“Because Bee likes you enough to give you free meals, you bastard. She doesn’t do that with just anybody.”

“Lucky for me then.”

“Lucky indeed.” They looked at him significantly. “Who’s that you’re with tonight, hmm? Never seen you bring anybody here before.”

“Ah, he’s a friend of mine.” He hopes he isn’t blushing. By the look in their eyes he is. 

“A friend. Hmm. You know,” they leaned in and he did the same to hear better as the whisper carried to him. “He looks very familiar. In fact I’m sure I saw him on the cover of-”

“Dagon I am quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Aziraphale jerks away, eyes skittering wildly. 

“Hmm.” They say again but this time they make no attempt at coyness. “Not everyday we get royalty in this place.”

“He’s not- Dagon I don’t know what gave you the impression- I-”

“Oh don’t worry Aziraphale.” They take pity on him. “The poor man looked like he was having fun, we won’t ruin his night by calling in the press, will we Bee?”

Bee moved closer from where she’d been stacking plates to go and stand next to her partner. “No, we won’t, no matter how good it would be for business.”

“I don’t know where you two get your ideas.” Aziraphale says desperately and looks back through the cooks window to see Crowley standing on the side of the room talking with P and looking increasingly alarmed. “Now if you’ll both excuse me I think I should go rescue him from your terrifying wait staff. Thank you for the meal.”

“Are you staying?” Dagon called and he nodded before waving and escaping back to Crowley just as P left him alone.

“While I can see the appeal of this place is all of the staff this terrifying?” Crowley watched P’s ink-stained clothing with alarm as they moved to the D.J. area. “They weren’t even the worst of them, did you know the bouncer here actually dresses like the Grim Reaper? What’s that about?”

“Best not to ask, my dear.” He pats Crowley’s arm consolingly and notices for the first time how full the room has gotten. When he checks the time he sees it’s growing very late in the evening. “I however should ask you whether you’d like to stay or not? It won’t be long until this place fills up completely.”

“It’s just a regular club?”

“Yes, my dear. Dancing, music that makes my head hurt and drinks to finish the job.”

“Do you come here often?” 

Aziraphale smiles at the unintentional line. “Not often no. But enough that I know what to expect.”

“And?”

“What?”

Crowley smiles endearingly. “What should I expect?”

“Just what I said. Dancing, drinking and the usual antics of humanity.” He paused. “Have you never been to a pub before?”

Crowley shook his head. 

“But…” 

He frowned trying to remember if he’d ever seen paparazzi shots of Prince Crawley during a night about in the town. Maybe not. Considering he hadn’t even recognized him this morning it was a safe assumption that Aziraphale hadn’t seen much about the prince. 

“Well you’re not missing much.” He admits. “But occasionally if you’re with the right people it can be fun. Would you like to stay?”

“If you want to.”

He carefully takes in Crowley’s expression and smiles. “Then we’ll stay. And if either of us want to leave we can just say the word and be on our way.”

“Alright.” The redhead looked around curiously. “Until it gets busy what do we do?”

“My dear we go and find ourselves a drink and a reasonable place to stand. If we’re lucky we might be able to nab a couple of the empty seats.”

Though the bar is filling quickly there is still enough room for them to maneuver through the growing crowd to where Carmine is making drinks. She catches sight of them and winks before finishing attending to the woman in front of her and making her way over. 

“You’re not hoping for more wine I hope?”

Aziraphale glances at Crowley who shakes his head and then turns back to Carmine. “No, actually.” He confirms and then rattles off their orders which she quickly mixes before sending them on their merry ways. 

Luckily for them they manage to grab a couple of chairs at the end of one table and settle in to wait until things get a bit more exciting. Again they waste nearly an hour talking about anything from books to plays to movies like  _ The Sound of Music _ .

“It just goes on and on forever and ever and ever. And ever and ever.” 

“It’s a classic!”

“Look I like the whole fighting Nazis bit. And the songs and standing up for what’s right, blah, blah. The overall themes are,” he hiccuped. “Good. But it’s so long.”

“Oh please it’s no longer than any other film.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “I quite like it. The courage to choose who you love is no small thing. And Julie Andrews is a national treasure.”

That seems to make him pause and eventually Crowley nods seriously. “I completely agree.”

“Well- good.” Aziraphale feels wrong-footed, as if he’s missed something, but he’s had too much alcohol to know what or where it happened. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Hmm. Brilliant film. Why did we move away from big-budget musicals anyway?”

“Don’t ask  _ me _ .” Aziraphale said imperiously. “I’m sure I don’t know. Was always a fan of them myself.”

“ _ Phantom of the Opera _ . I love that one.”

“You would.” Aziraphale said knowingly, giving him a once-over, mouth pursed. “I like  _ The Lion King _ .”

“Shakespeare, of course.” Crowley’s eyes roll before his face lit up suddenly. “But you know what the best one is-”

“ _ Wicked _ .”

“ _ Wicked _ !” 

Crowley says at the same time with passion before sighing. Aziraphale sympathizes with him and leans forward to pat his shoulder kindly. He sways when he does and ends up with his face far closer to Crowley’s than he’d intended.

The prince blinks slowly at him. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Aziraphale giggles and breaks the moment. “Whoops!”

“Whoops.” He repeats and helps Aziraphale sit back up, hands lingering, before asking abruptly. “Do you want to dance, angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says happily and downs his drink. “I thought you would never ask.”

Even in the poor lighting he can see Crowley blush even when he tries to hide it by picking up his drink and finishing it in one large gulp. “Come on then.”

He reaches out and takes Crowley’s hand before he can overthink it and they slowly go to join the mass of moving bodies under the multi-coloured lights. When they find a pocket of space large enough to accomodate them he lets Crowley go regretfully and awkwardly begins to move, trying to emulate those around him. 

He’d taken ballroom dancing lessons as a child and would have been far more comfortable doing something like the gavotte but that was obviously not the preferred style here. 

Crowley was laughing at him. “You look ridiculous.”

Aziraphale frowned but didn’t take offense. In a moment he was holding back his own laughter. An old song by the band Queen that even he recognized came on and Crowley made a face but moved confidently anyway. “I don’t really dance but you’re no better! I don’t think hips are meant to move like that, my dear!”

“It’s called Snake Hips!” Crowley shouts back and turns in a circle happily, throwing his hands up in the air and growing flushed. Aziraphale found his mouth going dry.

“Yes and-” He was about to retort but a pair of hands falling on his hips from behind him made him jump and turn around. “Well, excuse me!”

The person behind him- the very beautiful person behind him- immediately lifted their hands in a gesture of surrender. They had long hair, gorgeous dark makeup and dark skin and was wearing a skin tight glittery golden dress that hung appealingly at the front. When the person spoke their tone was deep. “Sorry, I didn’t see your partner there.”

“Em.” Aziraphale flushed and glanced back at Crowley who had stopped moving and was now staring with intensity at the stranger. There was something almost like envy in his eyes. Or, perhaps, jealousy. “I’m so sorry but I like men.”

“Oh baby,” they leaned forwards while trailing a finger from his shoulder to tap his wrist. It made goosebumps break out across Aziraphale’s arm. Their smile was kind though. “I am all the man you need.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale relaxed a bit at that even while he felt Crowley come up behind him intimidatingly. “Despite that and despite how tempting you are I’m sorry to say I’m busy-”

“He’s taken.” Crowley practically draped himself over Aziraphale and slid one arm across his shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for the mistake.” The man shot both of them a warm smile and Aziraphale returned it. “Have a nice night you two.”

“You too!” Aziraphale called after him as he disappeared into the crowd. He turned back to Crowley, causing his arm to leave his shoulders. “What a nice man!”

“Bit… feminine, don’t you think?”

For the first time all day Aziraphale felt his heart fall and he stared at Crowley without hiding his thoughts on that statement. Crowley looked away almost immediately in discomfort. 

Feminine. Ha! That was a bit rich from a man who spent half of his life in fancy outfits and dancing at balls with hair long enough that it needed to be tied back. Or at least, had been long enough until this afternoon. 

“I don’t think I like your implication, Crowley.” He said finally having lost all cheer and merriness from earlier. It felt like all of the alcohol had been drained from his body within the span of a few moments. “He- or anyone else at all for that matter- can choose to look any way they damn well want and will look absolutely wonderful while doing so.”

“Hey, hey, Aziraphale.” Crowley grabbed his upper arms and got his attention, stopping him mid-rant so their eyes would hold. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, I didn’t mean it alright? I was just…”

He waited.

“Jealous.” Crowley swallowed. “I was jealous.”

Oh. 

Aziraphale relaxed in his grip. “Well. It’s alright. At least you didn’t say it to him so there was no harm done I suppose.”

“Right.” Crowley squeezed his arms before dropping his hands and taking a small step back. 

Crowley was jealous. Jealous of that man. And why would he be jealous? 

Because he had been flirting with Aziraphale?

The thought made him brave. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Aziraphale asked, having to raise himself up on his tip-toes to reach Crowley’s ear. He felt the prince shiver and hoped it wasn’t because he was cold. “I don’t think this is really our scene.”

Crowley’s fingers brushed against his side. When he replied Aziraphale barely heard him because of how low his voice was. 

“Yes.”

“Come on, my dear,” Aziraphale grabbed his hand and their eyes met. He knew his were wide and excited, full of promise. Crowley’s pupils were so dilated there was barely any yellow left to be seen. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

At first he anticipated the short walk home would be silent and dripping with intent but he should have known better by now. By the time Aziraphale shucked his waist coat off and threw it on the chair near his bed before sitting on the mattress they were deep in debate once more. “No, no, you have it all wrong.”

“I do not! It goes  _ You’ve Got Mail _ then  _ When Harry Met Sally _ and then all the rest.  _ Sleepless in Seattle _ is firmly at the bottom.”

“No!” Aziraphale laughs and then turns mournful as a thought struck him. “ _ Kate and Leopold _ is a great film.”

“Sure it is.” Crowley agrees as he collapses back onto the mattress dramatically. “But better than  _ You’ve Got Mail _ or  _ Harry and Sally _ ? Not a chance. Meg Ryan films have a strict, non-arguable hierarchy and that is it.”

They lapse into silence when Aziraphale can’t find a good enough argument to reply with. He flops back as well so that the two of them are lying sideways on his mattress staring up at his rather dirty ceiling. Slowly the feeling from before creeps back in between the two of them. That heavy expectation of something coming. Something deeper and important and irreversible. 

It feels like quite a while but can’t really have been that long when Crowley suddenly breaks the drunken silence. He doesn’t sound excited but rather timid and full of longing and resigned. 

“Do you remember this morning angel, when I asked whether you’d ever felt like a woman?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I do.” He blearily looks over at his companion and snaps out of his own thoughts. “Why?”

“Because I do. Sometimes.” Crowley snaps his mouth shut loudly after the words have escaped and his eyes widen. 

Aziraphale’s breath catches and he finds he can’t look away from the other man. 

“I mean…” He scrambles, trying to find the words that are eluding him and Aziraphale watches the play of emotions cross his face. Fear, horror, shock as if he can’t believe what he’s just said before all of a sudden Crowley relaxes and their eyes meet again as he says confidently. “Sometimes I feel like a woman.”

The journalist pauses, uncertain of how to tread. It takes longer than he should for his drunken self to fully appreciate what he’s been told and when he finally does it douses him like a cold bucket of water would. 

On the one hand inside he’s jumping up and down in victory because this- good Lord, this is a story, this is the scoop that could pay him enough to go back to London. The Crown Prince is admitting that he… what?

“Only sometimes?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley nods quickly, eyes flicking up to him before moving away.

Then the redhead lets out a laugh. It’s shaky but Aziraphale is too kind to mention it. “Do you know I’ve never told anybody that before?”

“What? That you’re… would genderfluid be the correct term?”

Crowley stops and takes a deep breath. “Yes. At least I think so. From what I’ve read.”

The scoop of the decade at least. Aziraphale can just imagine it. The first known gender fluid monarch in history, most likely.

Seconds pass and Aziraphale knows he should say something but he can’t think of what. He’s too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. One part of him is marvelling at his own luck, already planning his arrival back home and mentally paying off his debts here in Rome. Another part, the better half, is stunned that he is the first person in the world to have been trusted with such precious information.

“What about your friends?” He asks eventually, unable to come up with anything better. “Would none of them understand? Or your family?”

Crowley snorts and hugs his knees tighter against his chest. “No. I don’t really have a lot of friends to tell you the truth. And I’ve already told you about my parents.”

That’s right, Aziraphale remembered. Lucifer himself and a more distant than God mother.

Which really only made the story better, from a media perspective. Disapproving parents, an heir dragging the unwilling monarchy further into the modern age, it was all there ripe for the taking. And Aziraphale had the exclusive.

But as he watched Crowley sit up to lean against the headboard and pick at the bedsheets his stomach sank. How cruel of him, to think of such a thing. They weren’t so different really, despite the gap in their social statuses. Disapproved of, alone in a strange place desperate to live how they wanted, aching to find somebody to fill in all of the gaps they both carried. If today had proved anything to Aziraphale it was that Crowley was not who he had thought him to be. That he was good and deserved better.

“I must apologize to you then on the world’s behalf,” he said softly, reaching out to touch Crowley on the back of the hand. His skin was cool and smooth and Aziraphale gave into the urge to hold on. “We have all failed you.”

Crowley looked down at their hands for what seemed like an age before pulling his eyes up to meet Aziraphale’s, blinking quickly. “No, you haven’t.” He sniffs a bit. “None of you could have ever known.”

They are growing dangerously close to admitting Crowley’s secret and again Aziraphale finds he doesn’t want that, not now. He wants all of that gone, the social divide and weight of expectations and reminders of where they both stand. No, he just wants this moment with the two of them.

Which is when the thought strikes him.

“Oh.” Crowley looks up once more from their clasped hands at his quiet outburst. “Oh, no. I’ve been misgendering you all day, haven’t I?”

Those golden eyes widen and Crowley’s mouth falls open. Aziraphale barely sees it, too busy remembering Crowley stopping to look at the high heels and that one dress in the store window. Then tonight at the bar, perhaps Crowley hadn’t been watching that other man because of jealousy of his attention towards Aziraphale. No, maybe it had been jealousy for his appearance and the confidence he had to be who he was unashamedly.

“You’re a woman.” Aziraphale says simply and Crowley’s hand grips his tighter.

“Yes,” she breathes and there is something heart-achingly vulnerable in her voice. “I am.”

“I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale says and he does feel incredibly guilty. “I didn’t think.”

“Not your fault.” Crowley glances away but she can’t seem to stop herself from looking back barely a second later. “I didn’t say anything. I never do.”

Aziraphale swallows. “That must be incredibly difficult.”

“It can be. Sometimes.” She tilts her head. “I didn’t realize what it would feel like. To hear you say it.”

Aziraphale nods before deciding to Hell with it and he goes and sits right beside her, their hands still joined. They rest side by side against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of them both. Crowley has followed his movements but Aziraphale’s attention is fixed on the opposite wall.

“I can understand, a bit. I spent most of my life in the closet. In fact, it’s only since coming here that I’ve been open about it all and even then it’s only with strangers.” He can just imagine what would happen if word reached work. There are laws about discrimination based on sexuality these days, but Rome had always been a very religious place and besides, Gabriel was American. Not the nice sort either. There were ways of getting around those discrimination laws which Aziraphale knew about all too well.

And he knew what rejection looked like. His parents had shown him firsthand.

Crowley squeezed his hand gently. “Then I’m sorry too. It’s not fair.”

“No.” Aziraphale shakes his head in agreement. Seconds tick by in quiet understanding before he offers another tidbit of himself. “I’ve never even kissed another person before, could you believe it?”

Earlier he’d told himself to stay out of Crowley’s issues because they were problems he didn’t and would never understand but that hadn’t been true was it? They were both the same, he and Crowley. Each of them not allowed to be who they wanted, both wanting more, wanting to do better, to find a place to call home and people to love and accept them after unearthing the courage to accept themselves. 

Crowley smiled bitterly. “Neither have I.”

“We’re quite a sorry pair then.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Crowley shifted to turn on her side. “You can ask me about it. If you want.”

Aziraphale searched her face. “You want me to?”

“Yes.”

If he’d had to guess Aziraphale wouldn’t have thought he’d really have many questions but almost immediately one springs to his tongue. It’s silly and trivial but he doesn’t think Crowley will laugh at him. Not after everything.

“Are you allowed makeup? Do you like it?” 

Beyond what people used for interviews and photographs, of course. At least, that’s what Aziraphale presumed, if the pictures of Crowley on the internet were anything to go by.

Her face falls. “I’m allowed whatever I like really. Except when I’m not.”

They continue on in that fashion for ages. It’s unusual for Aziraphale to speak too much, he’s far more used to being spoken to, but today he has talked more than he can ever remember. Crowley brings it out in him, the want to share himself, the trust that he will be understood. It’s a heady feeling to look at someone and know that they will listen and treasure everything you tell them even if it’s something as trivial as your favourite Meg Ryan movie.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” The prince continued. “There’s so many reasons I shouldn’t tell you anything I’ve said today.”

“I’m glad you have.” He answers after it becomes clear Crowley won’t say anything more. 

“Me too.” Their eyes meet and hold while searching one another. “I don’t know what it is but somehow…”

Aziraphale pays closer attention. “Yes?”

“Somehow I feel as if I’ve known you my entire life.” Crowley’s eyes take in his face, holding his eyes after committing it to memory. “No, longer than that. Six thousand years. Eternity. The beginning of Creation. Whichever came first, take your pick. You’re as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.” A pause. “I suppose that sounds crazy?”

“I don’t know. I would think so.” Aziraphale can’t help it anymore and movies to link their fingers linked together and holds on tightly, chest aching as his heart beats out of control. He is coming to the stunning realization that something has happened to him today, something large and profound that he never could have expected but is helpless to undo. “But I feel it too.”

Crowley offers a tremulous smile. “I would almost say it was like love at first sight.”

The question is there, unvoiced, but wrapping around them both.

“Yes.” Aziraphale says but he knows it’s wrong. It’s just that he can’t think of what he could say to explain the way he feels any better. Crowley had come close in saying that it felt like they’d known each other for millennia.

They were both in a state of feeling like their lives were shared, somehow, and the bond that had sprung between them was far too deep to be the mere product of one day. To Aziraphale it was as if they had lived their entire lives side by side. Perhaps they’d gone their separate ways here and there but there was never a doubt of them coming back to each other. And somewhere along the way Aziraphale knew he had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with the person beside him.

But that sounded far crazier than anything Crowley had said and now more than ever he didn’t want to scare her away. No, in fact, Aziraphale never wanted her to have to leave.

The reminder caused his heart to fall. She would have to leave. Sooner rather than later too. It was enough to bring his mood down.

Instead of letting his inner thoughts show however, he just looks back at her, his blue eyes meeting her golden ones and repeats, “yes. It does rather feel like that.”

Her eyes shine and Aziraphale can’t help it. Heart aching, blood racing with an innocent need and the desperate knowledge that this will all have to end, he moves his head forwards and gently presses his lips to Crowley’s.

He feels her blink, the tips of her eyelashes lightly brushing his own skin. Her inhale of surprise is obvious, easy to feel, and Aziraphale’s stomach plummets as he realizes he has misread this entirely.

What had he been thinking? Kissing a prince? Had he forgotten who was in front of him?

The truth was yes. He had. For a second there had been no titles and protocol. Only Crowley lying beside him and Aziraphale next to her, marveling at the person he had in his bed who had stumbled so forcefully into his life and trying to avoid the thought that soon today would be over and the best day he could ever remember having would be finished.

His disappointment fades quickly however as Crowley’s cool hands come up to cup his cheeks. Parted lips and a brilliant smile make his breath catch.

“What are you doing, my dear?” He has to check. Has to make sure this isn’t something that both or one of them will regret later.

“What I want,” she says back and then her lips touch his and Aziraphale doesn’t have a chance to try and talk either of them out of it.

* * *

Afterwards they are quiet, lying side by side under Aziraphale’s bed covers, watching one another all the while knowing their time together was coming to an end. 

“I have to go soon.”

She dares to say it first and his eyelids fall shut against his will, as if to escape from the truth. “Yes I thought you would.”

Her cool hand searches for his. “I don’t- I don’t want to.”

That gives him the courage to look back at her again. “You can’t help it. I understand.”

This time the pause is heavy, loaded with uncertainty. 

“Do you?”

“Yes I do.”

Something like realization crosses her face but it disappears quickly. “Can we just treasure these few minutes then? Before I have to leave?”

“Oh my dear,” his tone is so soft and he has never sounded more heartbroken. “What do you think I’ve been doing all afternoon?”

Something unbelievably tender in her eyes makes his heart ache.

But soon neither of them can deny that time is ticking on and by silent agreement they slip out from the bed to dress. Crowley’s clothes are covered with spilled alcohol and Aziraphale’s aren’t much better but he wears them again anyway so as not to leave her looking so disheveled alone. 

He’s finding it hard to look at her.

“Shall we?” He offers his arm.

Fondness makes her face soft. “We shall.”

They hail a cab and Crowley is left to give uncertain directions while Aziraphale watches. He can’t tear his eyes away and can’t ignore that he is trying to memorize this last bit of time with the person who has turned his life upside down. Finally they stop to park near the corner of one block, the Coliseum distantly looming at the end of a street and old fancy upscale buildings all around them. 

“Here?” The driver asks in confusion and when Crowley just nods he shrugs and accepts it, turning back to the front to wait for them to finish saying goodbye. 

“I need you to promise me something.”

Looking into her yellow eyes Aziraphale sees how serious this is. Her tone belies how much this request will mean to her. 

“Anything.”

“Once I get out,” she says slowly. “Don’t watch where I go beyond the corner. Please.”

His stomach clenches. “But-”

“Please.” Her eyes search his and her voice goes soft. It would be pleading if Aziraphale thought Crowley was that kind of person. “Don’t spoil it.”

He has to clear his throat before nodding. “Alright.”

Her smile is heartbreaking and he keeps blinking. “I don’t want to go.”

He can only nod again. “I don’t want you to.”

But they both have their obligations. Aziraphale’s is hanging heavily on his shoulders and he suspects that hers is no different. Thinking back to their conversation in the park he remembers what she had said about owing a duty to others. 

“Thank you, Aziraphale. For everything you’ve done for me today.”

“I rather think I should be thanking you.” He offers. “Today has been… well. I suspect you know already.”

“Yes.” She says at length. “But it’s nice to hear all the same.” 

Their eyes meet again and as one they come close so their foreheads rest against each other. Aziraphale’s hands have risen to cup her cheeks on their own accord. “You’ll be alright?”

He doesn’t just mean in getting back though that is of course a concern as well. He means tomorrow and the next day and next month and next year for the rest of Crowley’s life. Will she be alright, will she be able to find some way to suffer through it all, to perhaps turn it around and begin living the way she wants? To make herself happy?

“Yes.” She vows. “And you? Will you go back to England?”

“One more job,” he says and he means it. After tomorrow he’s done. “And then I’ll go. Somehow.”

She sniffs. “I don’t know how to say goodbye. I can’t think of any words.”

His eyes close again in pain for a brief moment. When he speaks the emotion in his voice is clear to them both. “Don’t try.”

Her eyes grow sad right before they close and he tilts his head for her to press their lips together one last time. When he held her in his arms she was crying for real and he hid his tears into the curve of her neck. 

And then just like that she was ripping herself away, scrambling out of the cab and hurrying down the street without looking back. 

He stared after her for some time, eyes locked onto the empty space she had just disappeared from by rounding the corner, waiting as if she might change her mind and run back. But after a few seconds the driver cleared his throat and Aziraphale turned away to gaze straight ahead. 

“Back to where you picked us up,” he requested while pretending he didn’t see the pity in the driver’s eyes. 

* * *

The room is fancier than anywhere Aziraphale can ever remember being before. Gold etches almost every available edge. The few paintings on the walls are ornately framed and worth more than anything he owns. Along the sides of the space are a few guards in uniform standing straight at attention and ignoring everybody else while simultaneously keeping a watchful eye.

His ears are buzzing with the low murmuring of the journalists and photographers beside him and Anathema as they stand patiently behind the thick rope to look at the empty raised dais. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She mutters unhappily. “This was your big ticket home.”

“You’ve said so already. Many times. Soon I’ll think you want to get rid of me.”

“You know better than that.” Her dark dress skims the floor as she sways forward a bit, camera hanging around her neck to gently hit her chest as she straightens again. “I just don’t understand.”

“No.” He sighs. “I wouldn’t expect you too.”

“Well maybe if you just told me whatever it was that he said to make you change your mind-”

“Anathema.”

“Right, a secret not yours to tell, I remember. Only you’re a journalist Aziraphale, and your entire assignment is to get some dirt on this guy! What the hell could make you give up going back to England to keep his privacy intact?”

“I already told you,” he said primly, watching the small side door anxiously, waiting for it to open. “It’s important to me Anathema.”

He feels her look, feels the concern and skepticism that seems to roll off of her in waves but he ignores it. All morning he’s been suffering her disappointment and unrelenting questions and perhaps under any other circumstances he would have more patience for it all but not today. Not when he woke up feeling like his heart was broken, walked to work to tell Gabriel that he had lost the bet and been ordered by his gloating boss to hurry to the last-minute press conference that had been scheduled with Prince Crawley to make up for the one that had been cancelled yesterday. 

Anathema had met him outside of Gabriel’s office to slap a large yellow envelope full of pictures to his chest victoriously. She hadn’t been too happy to learn that the money she’d been promised and the time she’d spent trailing them yesterday for photographs was disappearing down the drain due to the treachery of Aziraphale’s own heart.

“Look, Aziraphale-”

“All to attention for His Royal Highness, Prince Crawley!” 

One of the guards shouted it out to the full room and almost instantly the conversations around them quieted down. Aziraphale felt himself straighten further and his attention never wavered as the door he’d been watching opened and out came a small group of three people.

Duke Hastur was first. Aziraphale only recognized him from the hastily searched up pictures he had seen on the internet this morning. 

He remembered the tone Crowley had spoken about him with and judging from his stern and disdaining expression alone Aziraphale found himself sympathizing more than ever. Imagining having nobody but this man and the dour-faced Count Ligur walking behind him for company was enough to make something uneasy fill him. 

Such thoughts disappeared quickly however at the appearance of Crowley behind the pair. The prince was walking tall and straight, their eyes shining out at them all confidently. But Aziraphale noticed the tightness around those eyes and the bags that hinted Crowley hadn’t had enough sleep. 

Oh. He hoped that the prince hadn’t been in too much trouble when they returned. Aziraphale hadn’t even thought of that and it made his stomach tighten further.

Somehow just looking at them Aziraphale could see that Crowley was identifying as male today. Something about the way he stood, the ease with which he was wearing his clothes, it all conveyed a security that Aziraphale hadn’t realized was missing for most of the day yesterday.

Crowley looked good. His suit was slim and dark and his tie red. And though his eyes were gorgeous Aziraphale found himself almost thinking of the skittish way Crowley had behaved about them yesterday and hoped he was quite comfortable without those sunglasses now.

Sunglasses which, now that he thought about it, Crowley had taken with him. 

He hoped, in the foolish way that hearts hoped for such trivial things concerning those they loved, that Crowley would keep them. Even if just for the memories of his first day off if not for the memory of Aziraphale. 

Still. As long as Crowley was comfortable he was glad that his eyes were free. They were so entrancing and uniquely him and-

-and staring right at Aziraphale. 

Oh. Bugger. 

For the first time Crowley’s bored expression was replaced with absolute joy. And as Aziraphale watched he actually tracked the moment when a split-second later his happiness was replaced by realization and then shock which was closely followed by a heart-wrenching uncertainty.

Their eyes held and he tried to look encouraging. Encouraging or reassuring or- or just something that would make Crowley stop looking at him like that.

It’s only when a reporter behind him jostles Aziraphale slightly in stepping forward to ask a question that their eye-contact is broken and he is brought back to reality. His mind quickly catches up to the fact that Hastur has introduced Crowley and began the press conference and that after a brief statement it was now time for questions.

“Are you feeling better today, Your Highness?”

Crowley jerks his attention away immediately and the expression he wears is thinly plastered on. Aziraphale hopes that he’s the only one who notices. 

“Yes, much better, thank you.”

“Do you have anything scheduled for when you return home?”

Crowley’s smile was thin. “Nothing at present. Though I am sure my schedule will not be long in filling up.”

Polite laughter spread throughout the room and while Aziraphale stared at Crowley the prince was careful never to look back at him again. He tried to push away the hurt he felt at that. 

The questions continued and it was only the last one that Aziraphale truly paid attention to because it made the prince look back at him again. Gabriel would have his hide for not listening to what was said but hopefully Anathema was mentally present enough that she could tell him anything necessary. It was all bound to be nothing but the usual polite and impersonal nonsense anyway. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had the answers drilled into him by somebody the same way reporters had to follow a specific list of questions permitted for them to ask. 

But the last question was different. 

It was from one of the reporters at the other side of the crowd who asked it. 

“Which of the cities you’ve visited have you enjoyed the most, Your Highness?”

Crowley paused a bit at that though the question couldn’t have been unexpected. When he answered he spoke slowly and with purpose. “All of the places I’ve seen have been more than welcoming and showed me tremendous kindness. It would be difficult to…”

He surveyed the crowd but when his eyes fell upon Aziraphale they stuck there and the journalist felt his breath catch in his throat at the sudden ache he felt. Crowley’s face softened and he stopped mid-sentence to change his answer. 

“Rome.” His voice was resolute and determined. “By all means, Rome.”

Aziraphale’s heart stuttered.

“I will cherish my visit here in my memory for as long as I live.”

Hastur and Ligur immediately turned to him but Crowley ignored them and shot a smile at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale smiled back. 

“We have a few minutes for photographs.” Ligur stepped forward to announce and as one the photographers rushed to the edge of the rope to snap some pictures. 

Aziraphale watched as Anathema took a few on her camera and then, making significant eye contact with Crowley who watched her in shock before pasting on a smile, pulled her book from her handbag and held it up with the shutter sound loudly echoing amongst the others. 

Crowley’s face paled and his eyes shot to Aziraphale. Aziraphale swallowed but looked steadily back while something hard made Crowley’s face close off. 

Hastur and Ligur were watching Anathema in confusion but she gave them a quick smile and moved to stand back beside Aziraphale. 

Hastur finally stepped forward after a few minutes. “If everyone is finished-”

Crowley moved towards the edge of the dais and interrupted the Count. “I would now like to greet the members of the press.”

A shocked hush sounded and without glancing at either Hastur or Ligur Crowley stepped forward to step down the stairs and come to a stop on the other side of the rope on the opposite end of the room from Aziraphale. 

“Aldo Hertuna of the  _ Roman National Press _ , Your Highness.” The first person in line said. 

“A pleasure.” Crowley shook his hand and then moved to the next woman beside him. 

It seemed like every interaction took minutes and by the time Crowley reached Anathema beside Aziraphale his eyes burned from his unwillingness to blink and miss a second of it. His fingers fidgeted at his side as he readied himself for the fact that in a few moments it would be his hand Crowley would shake and him the prince would greet. 

“And you are?”

“Anathema Device. Freelance photographer.” Anathema shook Crowley’s hand and the prince nodded as she confirmed his earlier discovery. 

But Anathema, lovely, wonderful Anathema, glanced over towards Aziraphale and then with a small sigh refused to let go of Crowley’s hand and slid her free one into her bag to pull out the envelope of pictures she had developed from yesterday. 

“May I present Your Royal Highness with some commemorative photos of your stay here in Rome.” She didn’t sound particularly generous but her face was intent and something in it must have conveyed her message because Crowley’s own expression warmed with surprise and she finally let him go so that he could accept the pictures. 

“Thank you.” He said before looking up at Aziraphale and moving over to take his offered hand with a much warmer expression than before. 

“Aziraphale of  _ The Celestial Observer _ .” He greeted.

“I hope you have enough material for your article, Mr. Aziraphale.” Yellow eyes bore intently into his.

Aziraphale gave him a small smile. “Today has provided plenty for me to use. Your Highness.”

The last of Crowley’s tension disappeared and his smile was wide. Aziraphale wondered if he was inventing things when he felt the slightest squeeze from Crowley’s hand to his own. 

“I'm very glad to hear it.”

Aziraphale nodded. “We’re glad to have had you stay.”

It took Hastur clearing his throat pointedly for Crowley to blink and give one last small smile to Aziraphale before he moved on to the man beside him. 

There were only two more before he reached the end of the front row and Aziraphale counted one beat before Crowley turned to walk back up the stairs to the top of the dais. 

“Thank you all for your time and patience. We apologize again for the inconvenience.” Count Ligur sounded like the words were coming out through gritted teeth.

“Yes.” Crowley again spoke out of turn and this time Aziraphale saw the looks Hastur sent the prince and frowned at them. “Thank you all very much.”

His eyes met Aziraphale’s one last time before the hint of sadness crept into his expression and the prince turned away. 

And just like that it was over. 

Crowley left the room without looking back.As Aziraphale gazed on and watched him leave it was like the seconds dragged on and on, stretching out infinitely. He was strongly reminded of last night when they had said their goodbyes and he had been left as Crowley disappeared. 

But he disappeared all the same. As the door to the side room shut behind Ligur’s back the same thing happened all over again. 

It didn’t take long for the others to disperse. They had things to do and no reason to stay. Even Anathema, who gave one last concerned look to Aziraphale, patted his arm before leaving herself. 

But he stayed. For as long as he could justify it to himself he stood at the rope and stared at the door, waiting for it to open, hoping it would. Perhaps a messenger would come out or maybe even Crowley himself. Maybe he had to wait for the room to empty first. 

The hope was a futile one. Aziraphale knew it even while he waited. The eyes of the guards were heavy upon him and the air felt thick and suffocating. 

But after a minute more he couldn’t pretend anymore. Nobody was coming back out. He had no reason to stay any longer and was expected to leave. 

His walk was slow. Drawn out and hopeless. And still nobody came. There was no sound of the door opening or footsteps hurrying after him. Only the noise of his own heavy feet breaking the silence. 

He couldn’t help but look back when he made it to the entrance and then he looked away hurriedly again in a futile attempt to stave off his disappointment. With the last shreds of his resolve he began walking again and went out to meet Anathema in the hallway.

His Roman Holiday was over.

* * *

It was one week later when an envelope addressed to him arrived in the mail. It was heavy and the paper was thick. Obviously expensive. 

After inspecting it for any sign of who it could be from and seeing none Aziraphale tried not to let his hopes rise too quickly. But when he finally opened it and looked inside he was for once not disappointed. 

In the package was a stack of bank notes held together with an elastic band and a love letter that, among other things, held words of permission.

The bank notes rested on Aziraphale’s bedside table as he typed quickly and the next morning  _ The Celestial Observer _ broke the story that the Prince Crawley who had recently visited Rome had come out to his royal family and the world as gender fluid. That they had first come out at a club during his stay in Rome and no longer wanted to hide. 

The club owners, Bee and Dagon, were just thrilled to have had them visit and welcomed them back anytime with open arms. Though off the record they both confided in the author of the article saying that the publicity was greatly appreciated.

The author was Aziraphale and though Gabriel muttered a few complaints he kindly still upheld their bet. Aziraphale thought it was most likely just to finally get rid of him but he wasn’t one to look a gift-horse in the mouth. 

It was with that money in his hand that Aziraphale quit his job and left  _ The Celestial Observer _ forever. Three days later he was packed, his manuscript was bound, and he was flying home to England. 

His new place was small and a tad dusty. Cluttered with boxes and stacks of his books he knew it would take him ages to sort through it all and put away. There was a storage locker a few neighbourhoods over that still held some of his belongings from his parents house and he would have to pick those up sometime in the near future. They were mostly books, if he was remembering correctly, and as he took in his busy home he absently thought that he had enough reading material to open up a bookstore of his own. 

But these were secondary thoughts. Almost immediately when he got to his new home he hustled over to his old-fashioned landline and rang the number staring up at him from the well-read letter gripped in his hand. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the London Ritz Hotel, how may I help you?”

“Hello? Yes I think you have a guest staying there under a pseudonym? I was told to ask for the Serpent of Eden?”

Within moments he was kindly being put through and listened to the phone ring again. 

Finally the other receiver was picked up and that familiar voice slithered through the line. The sound of it alone made Aziraphale grin widely and fall back into his comfortable armchair. 

“Oh angel” Crowley sounded delighted and it made Aziraphale’s toes curl in his shoes. “I thought you’d never call.”

The rest, as they say, is history.


End file.
